Childhood Impressions
by Lady Susan
Summary: The final chapter! Lizzy and Darcy meet as children...cementing a deep friendship that will carry them through the years.
1. Of Maple Trees and Melancholy Maids

Childhood Impressions

Note: Due to some creative writing failure, I removed this story from the site in hopes of revision and editing. The other chapters will follow shortly.

Childhood Impressions

Chapter 1: Of Maple Trees and Melancholy Maids  
Elizabeth Bennet successfully reached the top of the maple tree, her dress muddied, torn, and in such a state that it could hardly be referred to as such. Glancing down at her four friends, John, Elton, Charlotte, and Clara, she cast them all a sunny smile that relayed the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"Come down at once, Elizabeth!" demanded Clara fiercely, tugging on her straw-colored hair, which had been tied neatly into a bun, "or I shall go and tell Mama on you."

"Do as you wish, Clara Long," was the answer, "but she could do little to rectify the matter save climb up here herself." Lizzy grinned at Elton and John, tossing back two plaited braids of light-brown hair.

"I hope that you do not hurt yourself," Charlotte said, warningly. "Jane and your father would be heartbroken if something were to happen to you."

"But I am an excellent tree-climber, Charlotte," she soothed, "and I shall come down in a few moments, though if I fall, I suspect it will not be all in one piece."

"Elizabeth!" exclaimed little Clara, placing her hands over her ears, "how awful!"

Elton grinned. "That would be quite a spectacle!"

"You shall fall down and hurt yourself!" exclaimed Clara fretfully, twisting her blue muslin dress in evident distress. "And then what shall my Mama say?"

Elizabeth gave a dry laugh. "Do no worry after me, Clara. If I fall, Elton shall catch me. And if he does not catch me, well, I suppose that I shall be very angry."

"If you're alive," retorted John sarcastically.

"And what makes you think that I'll be able to catch you?"inquired Elton teasingly, "for I shan't know which side you might tumble down upon."

"If I fall," replied Elizabeth, "it shall certainly be in the proper manner."

"Oh! Lizzy! I do not know how you shall be a lady with all that energy in you!" exclaimed Charlotte, perching herself on a lower branch of the tree and using it as a makeshift chair.

"Do not fret, Charlotte, dear. If I cannot be a lady, then I shall be a pirate, as it seems a very respectable, agreeable career."

"A pirate is a dirty, black-hearted scoundrel," seethed Clara, "and if you run off and become one than I shall tell Mama directly."

"And what could your mother do to stop me? If I want to be a pirate, than a pirate I shall be. But I shall be a nice pirate, and not run my sword through anyone unless they are cross and disagreeable," reflected the inquisitive eight-year old thoughtfully, her hair billowing out of its neat braid and scattering across her tan face.

"Stop teasing her, Lizzy," commanded Elton, scrambling up the tree after her, "or she will cry and ruin our fun."

"I shall cry if you will not come down!" exclaimed Clara, scrunching her face in preparation. "And Geri, the miller's son, will come running to see what is the matter. And he will tell Mama 'rectly he comes."

"Geri is my friend," replied Elizabeth, using her hand to mask her face from the afternoon sun. "He will not tattle upon me. Rather, he will probably join me in my tree-sitting." She looked down upon the nervous eight year old with some empathy. "But, since you appear so worried, I'll oblige you this once and come down." She disappeared underneath the thick, leafy foliage of the tree and wove through the interlacing branches, past Elton, until she succumbed to the end and leaped from the lowest branch, landing on the tightly compacted earth gracefully.

"You see, Clara Marie? No harm done, save a few scratches on my arms and rips at my frock." Elizabeth glanced down at the rags that could hardly be referred to as clothes and sighed cheerfully. "No sense in crying over spilt milk, as Betsey and Rose so eloquently inform me."

Charlotte laughed. "Your mother will be fit to be tied, Lizzy. What a mess you're in!"

"Oh Mama will not fret about me," replied Elizabeth nonchalantly, "for she is too concerned with the recent purchase of Netherfield Park by some noble family from the north to care two straws about anything else. Apparently they're very wealthy, which is the principal reason for her enthusiasm." Elizabeth fingered a maple leaf, tearing a hole through the center and casting it aside. She positioned herself on a convenient rock. "Mama is very concerned for our marriage possibilities, though I couldn't care two pigs put together. Pirates needn't get married."

"Hmm?" asked Charlotte, masking her own interest and attempting to appear not in the least surprised.

Elizabeth laughed. "You heard me, Charlotte Lucas. I said plainly that a affluent family from the north has gone and purchased Netherfield Hall. I do not know why Mama makes such a large affair of it, after all, she can't marry him!"

"What an unruly girl you are, Lizzy! So ignorant of the matters of marriage and securing a comfortable establishment. You have nothing to worry about the trials of such!"

"No and nor do I care. I shall grow up to be a pirate and pirates prefer to catch treasure, not husbands," replied Elizabeth firmly, "and if Mama forces me to marry someone then it will be either John or Elton, for at least I can stand them."

John and Elton chuckled, swinging from the branches of the trees, and vowing never to marry Elizabeth.

"Your mama will most likely compel you to marry William Collins if it suits her fancy."

Elizabeth's face turned grim. "I should not marry that toad for all the treasure in the world! And if she should order me in such a task, I should take my plea straight to Papa, who sees and understands my logic." Her chin protruded stubbornly, causing the older girl to laugh.

"You are quite something, Elizabeth. Quite something indeed."

A rustling in the nearby huckleberry bushes alerted the group, and they turned attentively to see who had the gall to trespass on their secret refuge from propriety. Though the boys exclaimed excitedly that it was the infamous Napoleon in person, it was only Elizabeth's elder sister, Jane, bearing with her a wicker basket and a worried expression.

"Elizabeth," she called, glancing worriedly around until she caught sight of her younger sister, "I must speak with you on business that is the utmost of haste."

Lizzy shrugged discontentedly and beckoned that her sister would come closer, wondering upon what arduous task her mother had sent Jane to relay. "Whatever is the matter, Jane. Has Mama fainted in her delight over Netherfield Park?"

"Oh, no, nothing of that tendency," replied Jane, eyes wide and completion parched, "For Mama has sent me in great alacrity to fetch you back home." She cast glances above head at Elton and John, who were using their height in the branches of the maple to the advantage of eavesdropping. "She willed me to travel as rapidly as possible, and I have been so terrified! The Darcy's are to dine with this eve. On Mama's part, it was a clandestine invitation, and she has only yet received their answer."

Lizzy sighed. "Only that? I though at least the pigs had got into the garden or something interesting. Just the Darcy's? What a disappointment."

Jane nodded mutely, her golden locks in disarray from her hasty departure from Longbourne, the Bennet estate, and her pretty face flushed with the exercise that a swift run lends one. "We must leave now."

Elizabeth turned back to her friends, all having overheard at least bits and pieces of the sisters' exchange. "Good-bye, John, Elton. Farewell, Charlotte! And Clara, send my earnest regards to your mother!" She smiled teasingly, her China blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Now we may go, Jane. And 'on wings of the swiftest variety'." She started off cheerfully down the woodland path, her plaited braids waving merrily in the soft summer breeze.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"La!" What a state you're in!" Betsy Henderson, one of the Longbourne maids, scrubbed at Elizabeth's muddied face fiercely, causing the poor girl to wince with pain. They were standing in the fading daylight of Elizabeth's room, but a few minutes to rectify Elizabeth's disheveled appearance and ripped dress.

"Shall you scour my face to pieces, dearest of Betsys?" asked Lizzy between scrubbings.

The maid sighed, though considerably loosening her task. "I am sorry, Little Miss, but it is not like you don't deserve it."

"Oh, but I am sorry for getting into the mud and climbing the maple tree," replied Lizzy earnestly, casting the elderly maid a smile that wrought her heart, "but Elton did dare me, and I would have been the utmost of toads if I had refused."

"Oh, Little Miss! What a ball of energy you are," replied Betsy fondly, laying aside the sponge and replacing it with a brush.

Elizabeth winced even harder as the brush attempted to disentangle her tresses, though she bore it bravely enough. "Is Mama going to be angry at me?"

"Not when I complete your toilette. No one will know the secret of your afternoon excursion. You'll look like the lady you are supposed to become."

"But what if I don't want to be a lady, Betsy? What if I wish to become a pirate?"

"La! Miss. Lizzy what ideas have you in that mind of yours?" Betsy completed the brushing and attempted to pin the hair in a neat chignon.

Elizabeth sighed, handing the devoted maid pins. "I was only teasing."

Betsy stood her mistress up, slipping a light blue dress over her scrawny frame. "So skinny, Little Miss, and tan!" She held up Elizabeth's arm disapprovingly and clucked angrily. "Did you not put on that cream that I instructed?"

"It smelled terrible!" exclaimed Elizabeth, wrinkling her nose, "so I gave it to Lydia, who is fully enjoying the advantages of it as we speak." Elizabeth was referring to the youngest of the Bennet brood, a very young girl of only five, who was already showing signs of becoming a vain, spoiled child.

Betsy continued clucking, straightening the delicate lace wrap around her charge's thin shoulders and securing it with a pearl brooch. "I do not understand why you will not fatten out like Jane, and you shoot up like a wild flower! All your dresses are woebegone from overuse, and in several of them you are too tall to wear!" She adjusted the lace wrap meticulously.

"But Betsy I can't help growing," replied Lizzy, in a melancholy voice, "and I'll never be as plump and pretty as Jane. Even Mama says so."

Betsy turned her attention to a stray hair that had been bold enough to leave the others. "Do not fret about you not being pretty, Little Miss," she assured her charge, "for you will be a beautiful young woman, if you cease to tan so easily and quit running about like a ruffian."

Elizabeth tapped her foot impatiently, waiting as the maid painstakingly adjusted ever aspect of her garment and toilette. A sigh escaped her lips and she hummed a tune that she had recently learnt upon the piano-forte underneath her breath.

"There!" Betsy stepped back to admire her handiwork, "oh, Little Miss, you look lovely!"

Elizabeth glanced momentarily at her reflection and shrugged. "I hope that these Darcy creatures won't all be toads." She hopped down from her position and gave her favorite servant a big hug. "You've been wonderful, Betsy. As usual." She flashed her maid a grin. "Now I'll just have to behave myself!"

Betsy watched as her young charge cheerfully departed from the room, hoping, rather than believing, that Elizabeth could escape from mischief for even the tiniest sliver of time.


	2. Children Should Be Seen and Not Heard

Chapter 2: Children Should Be Seen and Not Heard

"There you are child! And not a moment too soon!" Mrs. Bennet instantly seized upon Elizabeth's ear, practically dragging the poor girl into line behind Jane. "I thought you should never come down! Can't you have a little more compassion for my poor nerves?"

"If I had any more compassion, Mama, then you would be positively begging me to stop!" exclaimed Elizabeth indignantly, reclaiming her ear with a satisfied smirk.

Mrs. Bennet clucked irritably, holding a compressed handkerchief to her aching temple. "What a little ruffian have I brought up! Your father will hear of this most assuredly, Miss. Lizzy! And don't think that you're alliance with him will do you any good in this matter!"

Elizabeth sighed discontentedly as her mother straightened the disobliging shall, "Mama, if I act nicely to whosoever is in the next room, may I forgo embroidery for a week?"

Mrs. Bennet weighed the consequences in her mind, eventually deciding that such a clandestine deal would be advisable over having her daughter disgrace her in front of the Darcys'. "If you promise to behave yourself and not rant upon my poor nerves, than I suppose that is a good bargain."

Elizabeth smiled satisfactorily, her nausea over embroidery at least being able to forgo for a week. Her triumph was certainly celebratory. Poking her older sister in the back, she said, "Did I not make a wonderful treaty with Mama just then? I am sure that if I enlisted in the regiment, I could make an even better with Napoleon."

"Hush, Lizzy. Our guests will hear you! You must still your tongue if you are to maintain that pact." Jane turned to her sister, placing her finger over her lips as an example for her to close her mouth.

Elizabeth only shrugged, tapping her foot impatiently as they were admitted into the spacious drawing room. A host of people were crowded upon the settee and stark horsehair chairs; an ensemble of children waited mutely in the corner.

"Ah, here they are this instant," said Mr. Bennet, his eyes sparkling with mischief behind their steel framed lenses. "May I introduce my wife and five daughters." He smiled. "Yes, five daughters. And all silly and ignorant the lot of them. Save Lizzy, of course," he cast the second youngest a smile, avoiding his wife's seething gaze.

He turned toward a tall, teasing man with graying black locks and kindly grey eyes. "This is Mr. Darcy, an old friend. Attended Cambridge together, did we not, old fellow?"

"How could I forget a person like you, George?" was the answer, as Mr. Darcy curtly bowed to each daughter in turn. "And it's a pleasure to meet your daughters. All five of them." He and Mr. Bennet shared a smile, as if contemplating an inside joke that Mrs. Bennet did not seem to find so amusing.

A short, scrawny figure of an woman, with strawberry colored hair that had touches of grey about the roots, looked over each daughter in turn, her small, beady green eyes evidently unsatisfied.

"Allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Catherine DeBourg," began Mr. Darcy, with teasing emphasis on his sister's title. She narrowed her eyes at the introduction, very formally and coldly curtsying to Mrs. Bennet, and ignoring the daughters completely.

"Pleasure I'm sure," she said stiffly, her eyes now focusing intently on the draperies, the couch, and the chimney piece with arrogant conceit.

"This is her daughter, Anne," he said, his gaze upon a pale, sickly creature who, at that moment, had an elegant handkerchief pressed to her nose. "She and her mother have a very great resemblance, do they not?"

Lady Catherine looked extremely vexed, not sure whether to interrupt her brother's comment as a compliment or a slight.

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes slightly, now turning to the row of children positioned like soldiers against the far wall. He motioned towards a remarkably tall, stiff looking lad of about twelve, whose looks, while strikingly handsome, were still lingering on the brooding, reclusive type. "This is my only son, Fitzwilliam. And his friend," he nodded towards a curly, light-haired boy with large blue eyes that resounded kindness, "Charles Bingley. As well as my young protégé, George Wickham," his gaze was now focused on a beguiling young boy of his son's age, with merry eyes and a transfixing smile. "My daughter's age unfortunately prevents her from being in attendance." He was referring, naturally, to his two year old daughter, Georgiana.

With the introductions having been executed to a fairly satisfying result, each person in turn took back their individual seats, the conversation lingering to an almost dull aspect, as Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy could not speak without being interrupted by Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth drummed her fingers together, trying desperately to avoid laughing at the obnoxious concoction upon Lady Catherine's head. A whole week without embroidery, she repeated to herself, a whole week without embroidery……

"So, Miss. Elizabeth, I hear that you are quite the little intellect," Mr. Darcy was saying. "Your father has informed me that you are currently beginning French. Is that correct?"

"Oui," replied Lizzy, in beautiful and plain French. Her accent was impeccable.

Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Quite the little impertinent you have here, George. She takes after you to an alarming degree."

"And that is a bad thing how?" was Mr. Bennet's teasing answer.

Elizabeth smiled. "I want to take after my father, Mr. Darcy. So, therefore, I take your comment as a compliment."

Here Mr. Darcy laughed heartily. "Really? Do you know how shocking that sounds?"

"I don't care what anybody thinks! I'd rather be a pirate than a ……"

"Lizzy, hold your tongue," Mrs. Bennet cast her inquisitive daughter a incensed expression, her nose flaring alarmingly.

Elizabeth sighed discontentedly, deciding that a subject change was in order. "What do you think of Napoleon?" she asked Mr. Darcy.

He frowned slightly. "I don't know what to think of him….."

"Well, naturally you wouldn't like him," replied Elizabeth for him, "since he's the enemy, after all. But you have to admit that he's fearfully clever."

Mr. Darcy was forced to coincide with the child. "I am afraid that he is rather intelligent, Miss. Bennet."

"You speak your mind very decidedly for someone so young," said Lady Catherine, who was anxious to have her share in the conversation. "Do you not realize that children should be seen and not heard?"

"Do you think that's very fair, Lady Catherine?" inquired Elizabeth, "I think it's not and you know it's not. The entire expression was most likely invented by some toad who realized that his own child's intelligence level surpassed his own."

Lady Catherine was seething with indignantly, "Why I never….."

"Cathy," her brother laid a warning hand over her silken glove as to steady her anger and channel it into a more constructive form. The sides of his lips were twitching suspiciously.

Elizabeth sullenly delved deeper into the patterned cushions of the settee, stifling a yawn, and absently blowing a strand of hair that had escaped from her chignon. She hummed a song underneath her breath and watched as the grown-ups began to discuss the weather, politics, and other subjects that neither appealed nor interested her eight-year old mind.

Her sisters, Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia were behaving admirably, only twitching slightly in their cotton-printed dresses, their hair all in impeccable stature, with nary a strand out of place. Hands folded demurely in their laps, they were the epitome of childlike aptness.

Elizabeth was imminently bored. The lace shawl would not stay upon her shoulder, her dress was uncomfortable and itchy, and her hair was rapidly cascading out of its neat fixture. She frowned, the picture of unruliness, her mouth forming a sharp, downward angle.

Lady Catherine's hat was wobbling upon her tightly curled head as she fiercely contradicted her brother's statement. It was a tasteless, gaudy creation, with obnoxious orange feathers that plumed out of it tastelessly, and rolls of gauzy lime that cascaded over the razor sharp edge. Purple swirls intertwined with red spirals, and some ugly ribbon trimmed the interior shell. Altogether, it looked as if she were attempting to wear a rainbow upon her head, though, in this case, the rainbow was appallingly ugly.

Elizabeth turned her attention to the stiff statures of the boys positioned across from her. "Are you related to the king?" she asked Fitzwilliam Darcy curiously.

"No," he replied, his tone rather cold and disinterested.

Elizabeth shrugged. "And how do you know?"

"I suppose I do not. Though I am not in the habit of checking my family heritage every other day," was his stiff reply.

She laughed. "You're not very friendly, are you? It was only a kindly meant question, to induce conversation between our two parties. Like a truce between two conflicting armies." She smiled cheerfully. "Apparently you dislike alliances."

He glowered. "It is not that, Miss. Bennet. I dislike speaking with children."

"And why is that? You are not but four years my elder. That is not much of a difference."

He did not respond, so Elizabeth turned her attentions elsewhere. "And how come you, Mr. Bingley, so full of smiles and evident cheerfulness, to become Mr. Gloomy Guts' friend?"

Charles Bingley stifled his laughter at the nickname for his friend, and replied, "He is not very at ease around strangers, Miss. Lizzy. Though he is lively enough in other places."

George Wickham was quick to agree, nodding his head amiably. "Good fellow, he just doesn't like introductions."

"Well, then I feel sorry for you, Mr. Gloomy Guts, though I can't say I sympathize," Elizabeth smiled at the crimson faced lad merrily. "But, you probably do not care very much for the opinions of children."

Fortunately for the lad in question, dinner was announced as ready and his interrogation was, for the moment, suspended


	3. Much Ado About Nothing

Chapter 3: Much Ado About Nothing

Dinner that evening was a sordid affair, as Lady Catherine spoke so much it was impossible to get a word in edgewise. It was a good dinner, though, however monotonous the conversation, and the roasted potatoes and stuffed lamb did credit to Mrs. Bennet's housekeeping.

Elizabeth, bored almost to tears by Lady Catherine's one-sided monologue, took comfort in the dinner dishes and made no disguise of her appetite, so unlike her older sister, who was eating like a bird. She gorged herself merrily on whatever was put in front of her and readily prepared for dessert.

"Have I been good, Jane?" she asked her sister between courses.

"Considerably."

"Shall Mama allow me to forgo embroidery?"

"If you continue this admirable behavior than I am sure she shall."

"Shall you be able to forgo embroidery as well?"

"I should not wish to."

"Why ever not?"

"It is a hobby that I greatly enjoy."

"It is pure torture!" Here Elizabeth exclaimed vehemently. "If Napoleon were captured and made to do it, he would surely surrender within a fortnight."

Jane did not respond, as she was nervous in company and wished to end the discussion, which was becoming increasingly noisy and might disrupt her Ladyship at the other end of the table. Jane disliked conflict intensely.

Elizabeth, realizing that debate was fruitless, returned to her dinner and crossed her eyes at Lady Catherine. Her neighbor on the left, the Wickham lad, laughed slightly, his face cheerful and sympathetic.

She turned to him abruptly, glad to have found an understanding friend amidst the tedium of dinner. "Would you like to see something interesting?"

"That would depend on what it was."

"It is something I recently learnt from Jacob, the stable boy," she replied, extracting a course woolen bag from an interior pocket of her gown, "it's an extremely clever trick, though Jacob isn't exactly a bluestocking.

"And are you?"

"No, though my sister, Mary, is," she replied, pulling a pair of tiny, worm-like strings of a transparent substance from the confines of the small bag. "These are lute strings and if you place them on a dish of food," she demonstrated by situating them on a convenient dish of potatoes, "the heat will allow them to wiggle like worms!" She watched delightedly as the strings in question began their writhing process amidst the potato platter.

"What an excellent trick!" exclaimed Wickham jubilantly, watching the worms, apparently intrigued.

Elizabeth smiled proudly. "I must confess at first I thought it quite trivial, but Jacob assured me that he experimented on his dreadfully cross Aunt Bertha, and she was superbly angry. Though, as a result, poor Jacob had to forgo dinner that evening. But he said it was well worth the astonishment on his aunt's face."

"I am sure that it was a great trick, but I declare that I think Jacob quite earned his punishment."

"Oh, naturally, but Jacob just had to see if it would really work, and Aunt Bertha is too mean for her own good."

"And how are you to be the judge of that?" asked the younger Darcy, speaking for the first time since his cross-examination by the pert eight-year old.

Elizabeth smiled. "You'll have to meet Aunt Bertha sometime. She's fearfully clever and has a moustache. One of her eyes if blue and one is green and her dog has a peg leg."  
"And this makes her disagreeable how?"

"She horribly volatile and has the worst temper," exclaimed Lizzy, eager to inform, "and she's always complaining about the weather, her house, or her head. Jacob said she was once in love with the blacksmith, Mr. Hiddershins, and he married her sister, Martha, just to spite her."

"And is Martha possessed of the same temperament?"

"Oh, no! Martha is quite different. She's very sweet and bakes the most wonderful gingerbread concoctions. Sometimes I take King Richard out to see her. She adores animals."

"Who is King Richard?"

"My dog. He and Prince John are always getting into fights."

"Who is Prince John?"

"My cat. And I have a horse named Robin Hood and a turtle named Maid Marion," she informed him matter-of-factly, "though she shows not interest in poor Robin. She's a very ugly turtle."

"All turtles look the same," relied Darcy, who was obviously determined not to enjoy the conversation, though the sides of his mouth were twitching suspiciously.

"No!" she protested, "turtles are not all the same. Maid Marion is dreadfully ugly. She's very vain, though, and preens constantly. I keep her in a great blue basin in my room and take her outside every so often. Betsy's awfully frightened of her, but promised faithfully not to breathe a word about it to Mama."

"And Betsy is your….."

"Maid. And governess too, I suppose. She used to be famously rich, but her wicked brother, Johnson, gambled it all away. She's fearfully clever, though, and knows almost everything about history and arithmetic. She taught me how to play the piano and sing "Rupert of My Heart So Dear' in five languages."

"And are these all your accomplishments?"

"No, not quite. Geri, the miller's son, taught me how to spit extremely long distances, and Rosie is teaching me how to cook her famous Damson pie, and I can ride Robin Hood and beat Elton in footraces and at Bilbo-catch, and climb the maple tree all the way to the tip top."

"And who is Elton?"

"My friend. He and John and Clara and Charlotte usually come along on my adventures."

"And are they agreeable?"

"I would not be around them if they were not."

"And have you any other friends?"

"Everyone in the village, of course, and Rosie and Betsy and all of the Longbourne servants. I suppose I am friends with everyone in Hertfordshire."

"You are not friends with me," he corrected, unable to refrain from admiring the impetuous girl, so blatant and frank with her remarks.

"Oh, but I like you, even if you called me a child in the sitting room," replied Lizzy, "and I suppose that we shall have to be friends, for you won't know all the best trout streams or places for fishing without my guidance."

"And can you read?" He asked, swiftly changing the subject away from himself.

"What do you take me for? Some terrifying savage? Of course I can read."

"It was merely a question…"

"It should have been an assumption."

"Excuse my inferior knowledge."

"I'll forgive you, I suppose."  
Elizabeth, in all her element, had temporarily forgotten of the wiggling worms on the potato platter. She started ,astonished, when she heard the shrill screech of Lady Catherine emit through the lofty beams of the Longbourne dining hall.

"What in the dickens is wrong!" came Mr. Darcy's worried cry, "Cathy, are you quite alright?"

"Dear me, dear me, is it the indigestion, you Ladyship?" asked Mr. Bennet, eyeing her plate with an observance, "or merely a case of worms?" He chuckled to himself, watching the noble lady herself rise up in absolute outrage.

"What insolence! To be served in this manner, to be served in such conditions! Mrs. Bennet, I do hope that you know under what circumstances I have been so disgustingly served!" She motioned with a bejeweled finger towards the wiggling creatures positioned upon her plate.

Mrs. Bennet was practically cowering in such wake. To have such a tempest when things were going so well! "Your ladyship, you must forgive us. I humbly submit my most abject apologies! Oh, my nerves!" She held a hand to her temple. "But I am so, so dearly sorry. It was surely Rosie's fault. Her wits are not with her these days. I shall dismiss her at once!"

"Is that necessary, my dear?" inquired Mr. Bennet, masking his amusement and taking a sip of his mulled wine, "are you quite sure that Rosie is the one to blame?" His eyes swept down to the end of the table where his second eldest was rapidly turning crimson.

"Incoherence! Impetuousness! Mrs. Bennet, I demand to see that serving girl herself! She deserves recrimination from the party of which she so abjectly decided to poison by such devious means! Had I not possessed such sharp eyes I would have surely perished under such provinces."

"It wasn't Rosie!" cried Lizzy, throwing down her napkin and stomping over towards that great lady herself, her eyes mixed with anger and outrage. "And those are simple lute strings. It was my fault, and no one deserves the blame but me."

"Well, well…" Mr. Bennet cast a highly amused glance at Mr. Darcy who was, under all means, now suppressing laughter.

Lady Catherine looked as though a fire breathing dragon, her hat wobbling dangerously on her grey tinted curls. "I should have expected such from someone like you."

"I shall take that as an insult, Lady Catherine," replied Elizabeth coolly, "and under the circumstances you have every right to be angry. It was a foolish action, but I must confess that it went entirely out of hand. I apologize. I can not and will not condone such behavior."

Any normal person would have immediately welcomed such a genuine apology, but Lady Catherine was so beset by embarrassment at her outburst to care. "You little fiend! Of course you meant harm to me! You and all your half-witted sisters!"

Elizabeth felt the heat rising to her face as Lady Catherine eyed poor, blushing, innocent Jane. "It was my fault alone, Lady Catherine, and I have already offered you a humble apology. The only other thing I could do would be to cut off my head and serve it to you on a silver platter. Would that do?"

Lady Catherine turned red as she heard loud, unrestrained snickers from her brother-in-law and host. "What insolence! What indecency! What impetuousness! You are gravely to be pitied."

"Perhaps I am, your Ladyship, but at least I do not subject my host and hostess to such outbursts and accept the well-intended apologies of freckled little fiends, however half-witted they may be."

"You are intolerable!"

"I suppose I am."

"What a character! You are a disgrace to your family!"

"I shall allow my family to judge me, not a guest, however noble they may be."

"Insolent girl! Headstrong, stubborn, abominable…"

"Look at the time," said Mr. Darcy, observing his watch and steadying his sister-in-law's quivering fist, "I must express my abject apologies, but we really must leave in haste. The boys need to retire early if they are intent upon trout fishing tomorrow." He whispered a polite apology to Elizabeth and many thanks to his host and hostess, before issuing out the entire party in haste. Lady Catherine's loud complaints could still be overheard over the clatter of the Darcy carriage as it exited the drive.

Elizabeth was immediately lit upon, her mother calling her all sorts of abominable names, not allowing her any dessert, and promising that she would sew a church alter cloth so long that it would stretch from England all the way to the wild exotics of Asia.

And so ended the Darcy dinner party.


	4. A Taste of Her Own Medicine

Chapter 4: A Taste of Her Own Medicine

Elizabeth was punished, and heavily too. Mrs. Bennet was an expert prison matron, her own mortification at the dinner incident to make her immune to Elizabeth's earnest pleas, and she was unmerciful and unrelenting in her task to make sure that her daughter completed the most heinous of tasks, among other things, embroidery, etiquette, and eloquence.

The week that passed for Elizabeth was pure and constant torture, a monotonous reign of terror for the poor eight-year-old. She would sit in her favorite window spot, pricking her finger with the needle, and watching as her friends clambered down the old familiar lane towards the maple and horse chestnut trees, unable to join them. Such a prison was unendurable!

But, as Betsy quoted constantly, all good must delve from evil, and a week later found Elizabeth roaming her familiar territory in high spirits, happy to discover that Aunt Bertha was as mean as ever, Elton had looked after Robin Hood, and Clara had been kind enough to save her a fresh baked gingerbread cookie.

It was not until a fortnight later that she became reacquainted with the Netherfield party.

It was a sunny Monday morning, and Elizabeth and her 'groupe' were down at Browning Pond, a small expanse of water that could hardly be referred to as a puddle, plotting a pirate attack amongst the sweet mulberry brush and blackberry vine.

"I won't be a pirate!" Clara was arguing intently, the ribbon in her hair dangerously close to falling out, "I want to be a beautiful princess who is rescued from you horrid pirates by a knight in shining armor!"

Elizabeth sighed, agitated. "Have you no common sense, Clara? Princesses are annoying and noisy. You shall distract us from our heinous duties by your constant pleas for assistance. Save yourself. Be a pirate."

"Lizzy!" she cried, scrunching her face in preparation for an onslaught of tears, "I shan't be a pirate! Don't make me be a pirate! Please, don't!"

Elizabeth sighed, catching the eye of Charlotte, who silently nodded. There was little they could do but allow little Clara the occupation she chose. "Alright," sighed Elizabeth in defeat, "you may be a princess. But you'll have to be a mute princess."

Clara nodded excitedly, deciding a mute princess was better than a pirate any day. Her glossy straw curls bounced excitedly as she collected flowering blackberry blooms to lace through her ribbon.

With that resolved, Elizabeth turned to her other comrades. "Our duties are numerous, oh fearsome tribe, and we must overtake any travelers who happen our way!" She shot an irritated glance at Elton, who was snickering complacently. "What on earth is so funny?" she asked, her play act forgotten in the curiosity over what was making her fellow pirate so giddy.

"Nothing," he replied, his snickering now elevated towards laughter. "Just, you! Imagine, Elizabeth Bennet heading a group of pirates! It's a novel idea, is it not?"

Elizabeth looked intensely irritated. "You needn't make such a joke of it, Elton Clavering. I'm a much better pirate than you'll ever be!"

"What a joke!"

"I don't think it's very funny. Why must you always contradict my authority?"

Elton smiled quizzically. "Because I'm older, smarter, and I'm a man. That makes me superior over you."

"You're not a man, Elton! And you're only a year older than I. That doesn't make you any better, so get down off your high horse and……"

There was a rustling in the far clump of willow trees.

"Quick!" exclaimed Elizabeth, glad that the immense underbrush of the interlacing mulberry and blackberry vine disguised their appearance. "Travelers are wandering through these parts! Man your positions, men… and women! We must prepare for attack!" She crouched low, motioning for her excited groupe to do the same.

Whoever was on the other side could not be distinguished; Lizzy motioned for her tribe to get ready. "On the count of three we shall attack," she said, in a soft whisper, one… two…three!" Elizabeth bounded from the underbrush, not caring that her dress caught and ripped at the prickly blackberry bushes, a loud whoop escaping from her lips, and her right hand raised high in the air. Behind her, Elton, John, Charlotte, and even frightened Clara, followed behind, their faces pale but animated.

Another whoop resounded through the air, but it passed Elizabeth's lips as a strangled whisper when she caught sight of the unsuspecting traveler's identity.

"Hello, Miss. Bennet," said Charles Bingley pleasantly, as if encounters with yelling little girls were events that occurred every afternoon, "wonderful day is it not? Would you care to introduce us to your friends?"

Behind him stood the Darcy lad and the Wickham boy, both having amused expressions written across their faces, both apparently concealing snickers to ill effect. Elizabeth sniffed indignantly, but continued her façade.

"Who is this Miss. Bennet you speak of?" she asked, circling the boys and motioning for her comrades to follow, "I am no Miss. Bennet, I am the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard from the East Indies, come to ransack England and cause dismay wherever and whenever I please!"

"I think it is Black Beard," said Darcy, his lips curving into a rare smile, "and I do not believe…."

Elizabeth held up her hand. "So we have a talkative prisoner, have we not, lads? Save your intellect for the prison, Conrad, for I have no use of it now!"

"So you are not going to run your swords through us then?"

"I have no use of dead bodies! What good are they? Besides, I only run my swords through those who are cross and disagreeable, and I suppose that you all will surpass." She smirked smugly. "Tie them to the chestnut tree, Sir Wilkinson," she was referring to the alias of Elton, "and allow them no mercy. They shall stay here as long as I wish."

"My aunt is still fuming over your trick," said Darcy, kindly submitting to being tied to the chestnut tree, "she is absolutely in outrage. Such conduct is rarely, if ever, seen."

"You're aunt is a toad," replied Elizabeth, excuse me, the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard, "and she ought to have accepted my apology. I am sorely offended. First chance I receive I shall go and ransack her."

"She is rather…. disagreeable."

"Rather? I should say very. I'm sorry you have to be related to her."

"Not in a good mood, are we? Is your conscience irking you about tying us to a tree?"

"No, I was merely contemplating lunch. I'm hungry."

"We had packed a large lunch. If you untie us we'll gladly share."

Elizabeth smirked. "Trying to escape, eh? What a smooth talker you are, Conrad. No, I shall not untie you, but, now that you so kindly mention it, will partake of your lunch." She ventured over to where Charles had earlier dropped a large wicker basket, peering in to discover cold chicken, beaten biscuits, and a hearty serving of pie. She smiled delightedly. "What an excellent feast! Certainly fit for us pirates."

"Are you really going to insist and eat that in front of us?" inquired Wickham anxiously, watching as she untied the neat gingham towels that protected the food, placing it upon the plates that were also provided. "Are you indeed in earnest to do that?" He wiggled against his position on the tree.

"Do not over exert yourself," said Elizabeth pleasantly, "I, of course, shall give you the remainder of which that we do not want. Pirates, naturally, deserve the best." She situated herself beside Charlotte and spread out the banquet on a convenient rock. "Enjoy yourselves, prisoners. We are about to partake of your dinner."

And she did, amply filling herself until there was only a meager portion for the boys, which Elton allowed them to eat, untying their hands, but not their feet. Elizabeth watched with queenly grace, perched upon the rock and observing each captive as he ate.

"You are very generous," said Darcy sarcastically as he completed his lunch and was promptly retied to the tree, "most gracious to share our lunch with us."

Elizabeth smiled teasingly. "You are most certainly welcome. My compliments to the cook. Tell her that it is not often she gets the honor of serving pirates."

"I am sure she will be most heartily delighted."

Elizabeth removed her shoes and dipped her feet into the cool water. "I am sure she shall."

"How is Aunt Bertha?"

"Tolerably well. She is as nastily mean as ever, which endears her to me even more. She chased me out of her yard with a broom yesterday eve, and I was only endeavoring to pay a friendly call."

"Perhaps your idea of friendly does not match up with hers?"

"Perhaps not, though I can't see why. I didn't mean to throw the ball of mud, it simply slipped from my fingers." Elizabeth smiled mischievously. "And, naturally, she was inflamingly angry. Poor old bat, I'd feel sorry for her, if I wasn't so delighted that she's mean."

"At least you are honest."

"Honesty is the best virtue, or so quote Betsy. She is very sharp about those things, you know?"

"Is she?" Darcy smiled, evidently enjoying the banter, despite the fact that he was tied to a tree. "And do you agree?"

"Yes, I do. Betsy is very intelligent, and I respect and admire her opinion. You should too, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know very well."

"And she and Rosie get along capitally, though sometimes Rosie is a bit quick with her tongue; she gossips constantly, and sometimes Bertha, the laundress, will join in with them. They frequently gather round and discuss county affairs while shelling peas. If I'm lucky, sometimes I can snatch a few."

"So a pirate as well as a thief?"

"Well, they were our peas anyway. We grew them in our garden. I have my own garden to care for. Our gardener, Thomas Land, tells me I have quite the green thumb. Poor Thomas is woebegone with grief."

"Why ever is that?"

"Because he has too many children. Sometimes he gets their names confused. I know all of them, he named them after the Bible, you know. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and then there's Mary, Anna, and Hannah. Not so many, I suppose, but still, they ache on his nerves frequently."

"And what do you grow in your garden?"

"Lots of things, rosemary, basil, and the most glorious snapdragons! And Jane helps me tend to my lilies and then there's the lovely Queen Anne's lace, and ever so many other kinds. If you weren't my prisoner, then I should take you to see it."

"Shall I be your prisoner forever?"

"No, just until the sun sets and I have to go home for supper. Then I shall have to set you and Wickham and Bingley loose."

"And so we shall be tied up here all afternoon?"

"I'm afraid so, though I don't think you'll faint or anything. Once John accidentally locked me in an abandoned cottage for two days, and I wasn't a bit frightened."

"No, you seem the sort of girl who wouldn't be frightened of anything."

"You had better mind your manners, Conrad, or I shall run my sword through you, and then what will you have to say." Elizabeth smirked. "Nothing."

"I shall shut my mouth immediately."

"Good, for I am tired." She turned towards Elton. "I am going to lay on this rock and nap, Sir. Wilkinson. Take heed that you look after our prisoners. I would not wish them to become relieved of their," here she smiled triumphantly, "bonds." Elton nodded his approval, smile tugging at his lips as he relieved Elizabeth of her guard duties. He positioned himself at their tree prison, allowing her to stretch gracefully and recline against the rock, soon losing herself into a gentle slumber, having succumbed from the bounties of the Darcy dinner. But, unfortunately, ropes are easy to become untied, and Elizabeth would soon awake to a dreadful surprise……

Elizabeth was awakened by the sharp, obtuse, irregular chuckle of a threesome. Her head ached from the rock's hard surface, and her hands were suspiciously limp and for some odd reason she could not move them freely….

"So, our prisoner has awaken."

She blinked twice in the blinding sunlight of the climax of afternoon, taking in the first glimpses of the woodland area. She bolted upright immediately, only to discover that her legs were tied too. "What on earth!" she exclaimed, looking around until she caught sight of Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham, all crowded round her. "Where have the others gone?"

Wickham smiled roguishly. "We dismissed them. We wanted to extract our revenge only upon the leader. Apparently they were more your puppets than accomplices."

"I'm awfully sorry, Miss. Bennet," apologized Bingley, obviously the torn party member, "are those ropes to uncomfortable? Shall I loosen them a bit…."

"Goodness gracious! If you capture me you should do it in the proper manner!" exclaimed Elizabeth, apparently agitated by the change of circumstances. "And that does not include asking after your captive's health and well-being. What next, Mr. Bingley, shall you offer me a knife and your horse for escape?"

Bingley blushed, stepping back so that he could no longer be observed by the apparently enflamed Elizabeth.

"We're sorry to have awaken your nap," replied Darcy with a dry smile, "but, after all, we can not be too considerate as to our prisoner's well-fare. Are you uncomfortable?"

"Quite."

"Excellent. Then we shall begin your torture directly."

"And, may I be so bold, what exactly is that?"

"You are going to meet my father."

Elizabeth was indignant. "What! Meet your father! Absolutely not. Put me down at once! I am not going to meet anyone of your…. this is absolute outrage!" She was set upon a makeshift stretcher in a flurry of anger. "At least I was going to be kind enough as to release you."

"Yes, you were very considerate," replied her captor, "alright, Wickham, Bingley, lift. No, you're not very heavy are you?"

Elizabeth did not respond.

"Well, at least you won't shriek your head off."

"I was being kind enough to save you the trouble of having to stick a bandana over my mouth."

"Thank you, gracious lady."

"I am an adept prisoner, I suppose."

"Naturally. You have had much experience in such a field."

"Yes, I suppose I have. Though, usually, I am the one conducting the kidnapping. My mama will be quite livid, you understand."

"Not when she realizes that you have dined at Netherfield Hall."

"I wouldn't eat with you for all the money in the world. And I won't meet your father, your aunt….."

"Then perhaps we should just lock you in the cottage and forget about you."

"I am not an easy person to forget."

"No, unfortunately, you're not." They were going through an open field now, and Elizabeth could see the remainder of the villagers going home to dinner. Deciding that such a distance was not easy to shout, Lizzy resigned herself to the fate of being carried.

"There goes your friends. Are they in easy distance of hearing?"

"Don't you think if they were I would have called for them?"

"I was only asking."

"You must think me a simpleton. Just because you are wealthy and live in a large home doesn't make you any more intelligent than me."

"You're completely and utterly correct."

"It is actually quite nice being escorted like this. You should capture me more often."

"I shall consider that for future plans."

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, you certainly should. You are an interesting character, Darcy."

"More so than you?"

"Oh, I'm not interesting at all. Mind that bump there. I'm not very pretty or accomplished, and the only lady-like thing I'm good at is the piano-forte."

"I like you how you are; the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard who only runs swords through people if they are cross and disagreeable."

"Well, yes, I suppose that when I am the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard, than perhaps I am a small bit better. But I'm more interested in climbing trees and reading books about Robin Hood and William the Conqueror and Caesar than I am about lady lessons."

"Then perhaps you should cut off your hair and run and join the regiment."

"That is a possibility I have considered. Then I wouldn't have to do a thing Mama commanded. That sounds very agreeable to me."

They were now walking through Farmer Gregory's fields, and Elizabeth kindly informed them that he was a great drunk and would most likely put his dogs on them if he discovered their trek. With that in mind, they promptly switched to a shaded avenue.

"Have you any sisters or brothers?" inquired Elizabeth, returning the their principal conversation.

"I have a sister, Georgiana, who is two years of age."

"And does she aggravate you constantly?"

"I rarely see her, she has Nanny Craig to look after her, as well as her governess, Miss. Grantham."

"I have four sisters, as you know, and they're all aggravating; except Jane that is. She's very calm and kind and sweet. And she's very pretty. Mama adores Jane." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "And then there's Mary; quite the bluestocking too. She reads all day long, and not exciting books about the New World and Christopher Columbus, but dull things like poets and other effects." Elizabeth sighed, plucking a leaf from a tree overhead. "And then there is Kitty, who is quite empty-headed as they come, and Lydia, who is, even at six, as vain as a peacock. Have you ever seen a peacock, Darcy?"

"Yes. At my father's friend's estate, peacocks belong to their menagerie."

"They must be very wealthy to be able to upkeep a menagerie. Have they traveled the world?"

"Yes, Sir Ralph Evans has traveled, and still travels, the world frequently. He and his son, Fabian, are interesting people."

"Fabian! What a name. Has he any other children?"

"No. Sir Evans has no other children."

Elizabeth sighed as she saw the approaching Netherfield Bridge. "Another quarter of a mile until I reach my doom."

"You needn't sound so gloomy about it; my father is an excellent speaker. He has been wishing to get to meet you again. To congratulate you on bringing down Lady Catherine's pride a notch."

"I daresay she deserved it."

"There is no question of that." Darcy repositioned the stretcher on his shoulder and waved to a liveried guard, who was waiting just at the outskirts of the large iron gate. "Hullo there! We need a little help."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and said coldly, "I could get down, you know, if you would allow me some freedom."

"And let you run like lightning towards home? I think not." The liveried guard was now at their position, panting from his short run, as he was a chubby, porky sort of person with a flushed red face and beefy legs.

"You called, sir?"

"Please escort this young lady to Nanny Craig. Make sure that she is taken care of properly and not allowed to leave."

"Is this all, sir?"

"Inform my father and the cook that we shall be having a dinner guest."

"Very good, sir." Without a word or question, the chubby guard assisted Elizabeth down from the stretcher and proceeded to take her past the gate, through the emerald lawn, and up to the back door of the grand estate. Elizabeth had always been intrigued by the place, and was secretly delighted she would have an excuse to explore, though of course she wasn't going to relate that aloud.

They were passing through the kitchens now, down a darkened hallway, and into an arched door. Then they were ascending up cool, flagstone steps, into yet another series of halls until the guard paused at a small, mahogany door.

He knocked four times, and waited patiently until it was answered, by a tall, reed thin woman with ash colored hair pulled sharply into a harsh bun atop her head. She was wearing spectacles and looked very foreboding. Elizabeth wasn't frightened.

"Yes?" she said, in a voice that was low and smooth.

"Mr. Darcy informed me that you were see to this young lady's garment. She is a dinner guest this evening."

"I am not a maid," replied Nanny Craig sharply, eyeing Elizabeth with distaste.

"I am sorry, ma'am, but it was orders, and I will be leaving now." He exited quickly, before the woman could offer any more argument.

"Am I to come in or sit out here all evening?" inquired Elizabeth, "I am sorry to intrude, but that Darcy fellow betook his revenge and captured me, and now I am to be put to torture and have to eat with them."

"I would hardly call that torture," replied Nanny Craig, submitting and allowing Elizabeth to enter her apartments. "They are quite civilized."

"That is why it is torture."

"Well, I can certainly decipher that you're a ruffian."

"Naturally."

"And where do you hail from?"

"Longbourne."

"And what is your age?"

"I am eight years old."

"And what am I to do with you?"

"Suppose you tell me about yourself."

Nanny Craig laughed dryly. "Suppose we get you attired in a more fitting trousseau." She ruffled through her wardrobe until she found a simple, white muslin gown with peacock blue embroidery.

"However did you come into possession of that?"

"It is my little girls," replied Nanny Craig, "she lives here with me. Right now she is still in lessons with Mrs. Grantham."

"She is lucky to have lessons," replied Elizabeth, allowing her dress to be changed for the pretty muslin one. "Though she shall most likely be angered that I am wearing her dress."

"No. Drusilla is very considerate about those things."

"How old is she?"

"She is ten."

"Only two years my elder. Perhaps we might be friends."

"Perhaps."

"Has she a brother?"

"Yes, her brother's name is Joshua, and he currently is employed in the stables."

Nanny Craig began to dress Elizabeth's unruly hair, and the poor girl submitted to the strenuous task of unfurling its many tangles. "You're hair, child! What a state!"

"I am sorry. But it is rather difficult to take care of one's hair when one is a pirate."

"Are you a pirate?" asked Nanny Craig, the sides of her mouth twitching.

"I am. A pirate who, unhappily, has lost his ship. I am a very morose pirate."

"Naturally. I am sorry that you have lost your ship. Perhaps you shall find it again some day."

"Perhaps, but, until that glorious time, I must make due with the confines of land."

Nanny Craig began to plait Elizabeth's hair, gingerly working around the millions of knots. "Have you a governess, Elizabeth?"

"Unfortunately, no. Papa cannot afford one, though he gives me every opportunity of learning in his library."

"Hmm.." Nanny Craig proceeded to assist Elizabeth in donning some of her daughter's polished shoes.

"Shall I get to meet Drusilla today, do you think?"

"Well, here she comes now."

The door was opened by a small, slender girl with large, opaque, coal-black eyes and raven hair as dark as midnight. She had a heart-shaped face, tanned skin, and the air of a frightened, meek lamb. Altogether she was a very handsome child, though her timid air was not becoming. "Hello, Mama," she said quietly, her eyes taking in Elizabeth, who was perched upon a wooden chair.

"So you are Drusilla!" said Elizabeth pleasantly, hopping from her seat to go and shake the older girls hand enthusiastically. "I was hoping to get to see you and thank you for the loan of your dress."

"You're welcome," replied she, rather astonished by the younger girls confident, brash manner.

Nanny Craig was smiling slightly. "Drusilla is not one for elongated speech, Elizabeth. But, if you'll sit down to a cup of tea before your grand dinner with the Darcys', then I am sure that she will gladly tell you all about her lessons."

Drusilla was smiling slightly, going to help her mother prepare three pretty China cups for Elizabeth's enjoyment. The tea was boiled, sugar and milk added, and the threesome had an enjoyable conversation for about a half hour until the chubby guard came back and requested Elizabeth's presence in the dining hall.

She went without fuss, her blue eyes snapping, and her brain prepared with an onslaught of excuses and reprimands…..


	5. A Slice of Humble Pie

Chapter 5: A Slice of Humble Pie

The Netherfield Hall was a large, lofty apartment, drafty; to be expected in such a large establishment. The floor was a rough hewn flagstone, worn with age, though considerably smooth, and cinder beams of a deep maple hue crisscrossed overhead in undiluted fashion. The walls were a dark tinted stone, lined with ancient tapestries forever enshrouded in dust (however much Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, attempted to be rid of it) and at certain intervals a torch or two would appear, the candlelight casting the furnishings in an odd, eerie fashion. Altogether it appeared to be a room straight from the pages of a Gothic romance, the same macabre charm passed down through the ages. Elizabeth loved it.

Her entrance into the dining room was noticeable; a tall, lanky figure with snapping blue eyes and a stubbornly set head of rustled brown curls. She walked to the polished mahogany great table as if an ancient crusader about to enter battle against the rough evils of the world; that same, jet set determination evidently clear.

The other participants were already seated, but rose gallantly upon her arrival, propriety remembered even for a dreaded pirate. Elizabeth noted the splendor of the table settings, and received her hosts regally, coolly, and in an abrupt business type fashion. Mr. Darcy was evidently amused.

"I see that Miss. Bennet has decided to grace us with her presence?"

"Seeing as how I have no other choice, I suppose that it is the only alternative," replied Elizabeth, accepting the wing backed chair that was offered to her, "I am, after all, a prisoner here until you see fit to return me to my rightful home."

"And that shall be at my command?"

"Unless you allow your prisoners to take command for you, than I suppose it is." Elizabeth knew she was being impertinent, but she did not care. Her situation was unusual, and she decided that the social graces her mother failed so constantly to endbrain upon her memory were not worth the undertaking, even for such noble a man.

Mr. Darcy's eyes twinkled. "Do you care for lamb, Miss. Bennet?"

"It is the dread pirate, Blonde Beard, to you, Father," replied his son amusedly, apparently taking great enjoyment for baiting the already greatly agitated Elizabeth.

"Hunger seasons all food," she replied, addressing Mr. Darcy and ignoring his son, " and you may call me Elizabeth, as Blonde Beard is an awfully long name and so dreadfully dull to have to repeat over and over again."

"Very well then. Elizabeth it is."

A servant in liveried uniform approached the table bearing a great encrusted pitcher filled with water, which he promptly began pouring into each table member's glass. Elizabeth watched him with interest, as his movements were all very mechanical and precise.

"I must apologize on my sister-in-law's behalf, a headache, unfortunately, prevents her from the pleasure of your company."

"My company is hardly pleasurable, and I must admit that you have condemned yourself to a very undesirable dinner partner," Elizabeth sipped at her water, and watched eagerly as two other liveried servants began to fill the party's plates with lamb and mutton.

Mr. Darcy smiled. "My son would not have kidnapped you had not your company been pleasant, Elizabeth."

"Your son had ought not to have kidnapped me in the first place."

"You forget, it was you who captured us," replied Wickham, who had, until that point, been unusually quiet.

"Anyway," replied Elizabeth icily, "you have now prevented me from going home to milk the cows with Jared and help Rosie in the kitchen. She is awfully gullible, you know, and talks to much for her own good. She has probably forgotten the pea soup and let it boil over, and without me to take up for her, Mama will go on a rampage."

"I am very sorry for Rosie," replied Mr. Darcy, "though, I am afraid, she will just have to forgo the enjoyment a while."

"And then Betsy shall be quite livid because I am not with her to dust the upstairs rooms. We always dust on Wednesdays, and I am quite past due. I shall send her and her complaints to you, if you please."

"Send away."

"And then I always assist Kitty with her letters in the evenings, and who will tell stories to Sophie, Julia, and Robin?"

"Are they your siblings?"

"No, they're Betsy's children. I always tell them the most glorious stories before bed. Betsy chides me often, because they give them nightmares, but, as I always say, what doesn't kill you always makes you stronger."

"A just sentiment."

"And now I am gone," replied Elizabeth, evidently enjoying the attention, "Mama shan't have anyone to console with her about her nerves and Jane will be quite beside herself because she is fearful of the dark, and Papa will be quite fed up with Mama and I won't get to read his newspaper to him."

"Do you enjoy the newspaper?"

"Yes. It is the highlight of the evening, reading the newspaper with Papa. He always makes the funniest comments about Napoleon and such."

"Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon, that silly old scoundrel."

"How long must I be your prisoner?" inquired Elizabeth, as a plate of creamy soup and chives was placed before her, "for I must admit, I should like to do some exploring of Netherfield before my imprisonment is released. And I daresay that I would like to learn more about Drusilla Craig and her mother."

"Mrs. Craig is a very well-educated, genteel woman. Drusilla is quite like her."

"Yes, she reminds me of a gypsy. Have you ever met a gypsy, Mr. Darcy?"

"No, I haven't had that pleasure."

"They're extraordinary odd creatures. Once they encamped near Longbourne Forest, and I went out to visit them, and they told my fortune. I can't remember, because I was so young, but they said something about, oh, never mind. And, anyway, I decided then that I would like to be a gypsy, but Papa said he would rather have me be a sailor, and I decided not to run away."

"I'm glad you did not run away, or we would not have had the satisfaction of your company this evening."

"Well, anyway, the next morning they were gone off like that and I was quite angry, because I wasn't very sure if I shouldn't have liked to have gone off with them. But then who would read Papa his newspaper?"

"Indeed, who would?"

"Have you any dogs or cats or horses or turtles, Mr. Darcy?"

"We have stables, and Fitzwilliam has a dog or two."

Elizabeth completed her soup ceremoniously and watched with interest as it was promptly exchanged for another dish. "Are your servants always so quick?"

"They are, quite excellent."

Here the servant in question blushed appreciatively.

"And have you many servants? I have counted at least twenty now, and I don't know how I'll be able to remember all of their names."

"We employ forty servants here and a hundred at Pemberley."

Elizabeth refrained from her jaw opening. "One hundred servants! Why ever would you need that many? Can't you take care of your self?"

Coming from any other person, this would be taken as an insult, but from the lips of inquisitive Elizabeth it was merely a well founded question. Mr. Darcy was subsequently amused. "Yes, one hundred servants, Miss. Bennet." He motioned for Elizabeth's goblet to be refilled. "And a faithful group, the lot of them."

"I should not wish to have any servants at all, save Betsy for company. Pirates are too busy commanding their crew to command servants." Elizabeth picked at her lamb and mutton, her appetite forgotten temporarily.

"Betsy must be a authentic old soul, content with her situation in life."

"No, she is not happy or content, though she is quite authentic. She is still quite woebegone from wicked Johnson's gambling the family fortune away. She was intent on having her great-grandmother's diamond earrings, but they had to be sold with the estate and the carriages."

"I feel very sorry for her, and very angry at Johnson."

"I met him once, when Betsy brought him over one Saturday. He was a very ugly man, and he spit and smoked and swore and drank. Mama was furious at me for staying down there with him. Though he did have some very colorful language."

"I must admit, you are quite observant."

"And then Betsy got very angry at him, for he spilt some beer upon her freshly laundered handkerchiefs, and she chased him from the kitchen with a broom. That was the last I saw of Johnson."

"He seems very inconsiderate."

"Which is what makes him so interesting. You must admit, bad people are so much more interesting than good people, though they're not admirable at all. You want to be a good person but you are a bad person. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"I tried to explain it to Mama, but she just complained about her head and refused to listen to anymore. Mama is very ill most of the time. I believe she spends more time in bed than outdoors adventuring. Perhaps that is why she is so disagreeable."

"Perhaps."

"And I don't know why Papa married her. They're quite different, you know. Papa is so clever and funny. Mama is just…. Well, perhaps I had better not describe her for you. The only good thing I can say about her is that she is home every afternoon."

"Your father is certainly a character."

"Oh yes, I know. I'm his favorite, you see. He makes no disguise of it. Perhaps it's because I'm so rebellious of Mama's command. He wanted a boy, and so I guess I'm the closet substitute. I learn all kinds of things from his library, and he lets me choose whatever I wish. It is quite different with Jane, you see, she is so pretty and kind and submissive. Naturally she and Lydia are Mama's favorites."

"And do you enjoy being your Papa's favorite?"

"It is much more interesting than being Mama's. She is quite desolate, you know, about us being so poor. She rants and raves all the time about how horrible Papa is. And sometimes I mock her behind her back, and I know that is bad, but it makes Papa laugh, and goodness knows, he rarely does that anymore."

"I'm sure your Mama means well."

"Not at all. The only thing she means well in is for us to marry rich people, and since Jane is by far the prettiest, that task will get to fall on her. More luck to her, I say. I've offered several times for her to join my pirate crew and swab the decks, but she tells me that she would rather marry. For love. A whole bunch of hogwash, I say, and Elton and John agree."

"She seemed very kind and gentle upon my first impression. Is she always that way?"

"Yes. Always. She hasn't an ounce of gumption in her, though. But I do love her. She's my favorite sister. None of the other ones are worth a second thought."

"Perhaps it is just a phase they are in."

"I highly doubt it. They have been that way since birth, if not before." Elizabeth gazed thoughtfully at the occupants of the table. "How long did you know my father, Mr. Darcy? Were you good friends at Cambridge?"  
The noble gentleman was not dissuaded by the rapid change of subjects. "Yes, we were the best of friends, along with your uncle Gardiner, my brother-in-law, Lord Matlock, and a few others. Those were the excellent days, with little care in the world, save the occasional lesson."

"Cambridge must have been so much fun. I wish that I could go."

"Perhaps you shall. It would be twice as agreeable as becoming a pirate, and easier too, especially for someone with a mind as quick as yours."

"I'm going," said the younger Darcy, piping up from his position near Bingley, "and so are Wickham and Bingley. Wickham is to be a rector."

"Are you? We have a rector near Longbourne, at Longbourne Church. He is very agreeable and teaches wonderful sermons. He is young too, and plays Bilbo-catch every so often with the children of the glen."

Wickham blushed hotly. "I never said that I was too…."

"But of course you are!" exclaimed the host, his eyes twinkling, "it is my express wish, as it seems an occupation dully to suit you." He set down his napkin and motioned toward a portly servant with a wig askew.

The lamb and mutton were replaced by a chocolate crêpe iced with a raspberry glazing and a spiced apple cider served with a heaping of cinnamon. Elizabeth's hunger was once more regained, and she ate it ravenously, while still maintaining the ever amusing dialogue of her past escapades. And thus the party were entertained for another half hour until Mr. Darcy exclaimed at the time, and sent round for the carriage, as he could no longer detain the prisoner.

And so, Elizabeth, in her borrowed finery, was escorted merrily towards the grand carriage being lent, and implored, most genuinely, to return as soon as she could. Mr. Darcy was truly fond of her lively conversation, she seemed an excellent companion for his childish company, and overall was the sort of person who was rarely found, her brash, carefree manners uncultivated by the tedium of society.

And that is how Elizabeth became a frequent visitor to Netherfield Hall.


	6. Morning Has Broken

Chapter 6: Morning Has Broken

The day after Lizzy's infamous dinner at Netherfield Hall dawned clear and gorgeous; a lovely sun-dappled morning without the slightest hint of a rain shower. Elizabeth arose, refreshed and rejuvenated, with an entire list of events that required accomplishment. She dressed herself hurriedly, splashed at her face, and slipped down the back stairwell as light as a fairy.

Rosie was singing in the early morning sunlight that filtered through the kitchen windows, absently stirring a wooden bowl of corn meal. She smiled at Elizabeth's entrance, tossing her an apron and a spoon.

"You may look after the servant's meal," she told her cheerfully, still humming slightly as she mechanically stirred at the bowl, "and be careful not to burn anything."

Elizabeth laughed slightly. "As if I ever would." She clambered over to the large iron grate and promptly began stirring the oatmeal that would be the mutual breakfast master and servant alike would share. It sizzled merrily in the copper pot, its steamy aroma filling Lizzy's nose and spreading pleasantly throughout the kitchen.

"Where were you last night, Little Miss?" asked Rosie, completing her tune with an exaggerated flourish and pouring the corn meal into a flat pan.

Elizabeth tucked back a loose strand of hair and laughed dryly. "I was captured by a fellow pirate, sped away on a makeshift raft, and forced to endure the tortures of etiquette at the hands of my captors."

"And these elegant captors with their tortuous manners were?"

Elizabeth laughed again. "Mr. Darcy and his son."

"Mr. Darcy and his son?" exclaimed Rosie with righteous confusion. "Do you mean to tell me you dined at Netherfield Hall?" Her raised eyebrows cast her wrinkled face in lines of bewilderment, lending her a comical air.

Elizabeth stifled a laugh, her face rosy from the rising heat of the oatmeal kettle. "Yes, Rosie, dear. And don't look so surprised. Do you really think I'm to much of a ruffian to dine with sophisticated gentlemen as the Darcys'?"

Rosie, conquering her surprise, clucked nosily. "La! No! Why you're every bit as accomplished and fine as them folk, though you just don't act it."

"But I do try," replied Elizabeth, a hint of a sparkle in her eyes, "even though it doesn't always work."

"You mean never works," replied Rosie, sarcastically.

Elizabeth smiled broadly, "I suppose I'm a bit uninterested when it comes to proper behavior." The oatmeal began to bubble nosily, and Lizzy promptly stirred it. A pinch of cinnamon, a dash of salt, and a smidgeon of sugar was added; the luxury of cream was only allotted to the master and his family.

"You and that Darcy lad get along then?" inquired Rosie, her eyebrows raised slightly, "I've heard tale that he's a proud, arrogant sort of creature. You remember when they came here to dine? He said hardly a word together. Odd for his age."

Elizabeth shrugged. "He's different once he's away from everyone else; I guess you could say he can be sarcastic and amusing. Dear me, Rosie, I really don't know."

Rosie laughed. "Well, it'll be good for you to have a friend other than those hooligans, John and Elliot or Elmer or whatsoever."

"It's Elton," corrected Lizzy teasingly, "and they're not hooligans, they're merely immature for their ages."

Rosie sighed, clucking over her cornmeal and muttering about the 'hooligans' under her breath.

Lizzy, a smile still on her features, continued to stir her oatmeal, adding gruel to the fire every so often to keep it lit. Outside she could distantly here the chirping of blue jays and mockingbirds, and combined with the gentle crackling of the fireplace it made a merry morning tune.

Rosie, now in the process of mincing some apples, glanced over her shoulder at her young charge fondly, watching as she intently stirred the oatmeal. Not an arrogant bone in her body. She said to herself, smiling. Though she might be a mite stubborn and strong-willed. As willing to help a poor old body like me as any.

The heavy kitchen latch was lifted and Gerald, the stable boy, entered, carrying a bucket of fresh milk. He was a heavy lad, built for harsh work, with sandy colored hair and green eyes. He smiled kindly at Rosie and ruffled Elizabeth's hair appreciatively.

"Do I merit a reading lesson after breakfast?" he asked, setting his heavy burden on a polished counter. "Have you time?" Poor Gerald was considered rather 'dumb' by all the village boys, as at sixteen he could neither read nor write. Elizabeth had been giving him lessons for the past fortnight, and instead of being embarrassed by being tutored by an eight-year-old, however clever she was, he was immensely grateful. At that point in time they were learning by the Bible, but Elizabeth promised that when he became skilled they would adjourn to other works.

Elizabeth returned his smile. "I always have time, Gerald. Sophie is to join us today, too. Rosie said it was time she learnt."

Rosie nodded from her position at the mincing board. "Never hurt a girl to get some book-learning. Wish I had when I was her age." She blushed at her inability to read and write. Elizabeth had generously offered many times before, but Rosie was too proud to accept.

Bertha and Betsy entered, aprons starched to perfection and calico dresses freshly laundered. "Morning Lizzy, Rosie, Gerald," they said, yawns catching their speech. "Lovely day, isn't it?"  
"Wednesday's in summer are always lovely," replied Elizabeth dreamily, gazing out at the flower-dotted landscape with its clumps of lavender bushes and climbing honeysuckle.

Bertha giggled. At seventeen she was a pretty creature, with curly raven hair and sweet chocolate eyes. "Maybe today Ralph will finally propose!"

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch," replied Rosie sternly, tossing the minced apples into yet another bowl. "That Ralph boy is as gullible as a fish. He will do whatever his father tells him too."

Bertha giggled again, but this time it held a note of alarm. "Ralph and I will make an excellent couple and old man Diggings knows it." She nudged Betsy. "Doesn't he?"

"La! Why ask an old bird like me?" exclaimed Betsy, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. She walked briskly over to Rosie's position and promptly rolled up her sleeves to help roll out the bread dough.

Bertha's face fell considerably and Elizabeth took pity on the poor, pretty creature, so dejected and eaten up with worry over a nonexistent proposal.

"I heard Ralph just yesterday in the glen saying that you were the prettiest maiden he'd ever laid eyes on," she said, in a comforting tone, "and that is as close to a proposal as I've ever heard." She had heard Ralph Diggings in the glen the day before, but he had been referring to a bird he had just killed, not Bertha Lawrence.

"Thank you, Lizzy," Bertha said appreciatively, a glimmer of hope once again returning to her eyes, "I'm sure that Ralph will propose sometime soon."

Elizabeth shrugged slightly, ladling the oatmeal into separate wooden bowls. "May I take breakfast in here today, Rosie?" she inquired, yet again tucking back the unobliging hair. "Please?"

Rosie shook her head fiercely. "You remember the last time you attempted that. Your mother nearly had a cow. ' My daughter, having breakfast with common servants!'"

"Oh! Rosie!" cried Elizabeth, clambering to give her favorite servant a hug. "Poor dear, Rosie. Mama never meant it! You are all to dear to me. Closer than friends! You're my family!" She smiled as a single tear slid down Rosie's weathered cheek. "You mustn't let anything that Mama says ever change that!"

Rosie quickly flicked away the tear. "Get back to your oatmeal, love. You know how Tom and Harry get when they don't have their meal on time."

Elizabeth smiled, glad to have rectified the matter. She returned to her position ladling oatmeal, her eyes flickering fondly over the inhabitants of the room.

Morning in the Longbourne kitchen was always eventful.


	7. For the Good of Blueberry Bread

Chapter 7: For the Good of Blueberry Bread

The field of gold ripened wheat waved cheerfully in the soft summer breeze that swept across it, a startling contrast to the pale morning sky with its wispy clouds and harsh sun. Elizabeth paused momentarily in her work to admire the beauty of morning, her blue eyes raised Heavenward, a peaceful smile playing across her lips.

"Good day, eh, lass?" Johnny Carson, the Bennet foreman, wrinkled Elizabeth's hair fondly, looking over his fields with the air of a proud father. "And what a wonderful crop! Blessed be to God for giving me this bounty. Ole Johnny couldn't have imagined of a better one, even in me dreams."

Elizabeth smiled dotingly at the old Irishman, slipping her youthful brown paw into his weathered hand. "You deserve it, Johnny. All this hard work has paid off, and now you shall be rich!" Laughter bubbled forth from her lips and she set the heavy wooden scythe to rest, leaning her tousled head against it as a perch. "I thank you for letting me help you and Francis and Carl. It is a welcome haven from Mama's endless chatter."

"Well, lass, be thankful you have a mother to call your own. They're not something to be taken lightly, mothers." His hand strayed carelessly to his grizzled beard and Elizabeth noted with alarm the absent look that entered his eyes. She squeezed his hand tightly, as if transferring some of her youthful energy into his elderly veins.

"Of course I am thankful for Mama, dearest of Johnny's'," she told him appreciatively, watching with satisfaction as his wide blue eyes reverted back to their usual Irish gusto. "Though she is rather trying on ones nerves." Picking up the wooden scythe, she returned to her work, leaving Johnny to contemplate her statement.

"I been hearing tales that you and the Darcy lad have been getting along all right."

Elizabeth smiled. "You could call us friends, though we seem to bicker more than we get along." She paused momentarily to brush flecks of sweat from her forehead. "He's much more agreeable than his two friends, though. Charles Bingley is very kind, but he's rather gullible and George Wickham is silent and elusive." Elizabeth shrugged inwardly. "An odd pair of friends, entirely unsuited to one another."

"Opposites attract, lass," replied Johnny with a satirical smile. "Like me and Bridget." His eyes crinkled merrily, most likely recalling the unusual marriage that had made him so happy. "Yes, back in the old days of Ireland……"

Elizabeth glanced at him; his thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair, withered frame, and dancing blue eyes touched with sadness. She smiled at him affectionately and continued with her work.

…."but I won't bore you with the details, lass. Tell me more about your new friends. How long have they been here?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know, perhaps a week, a week and a half. I haven't seen them for two days now."

"They'll be back. Don't you worry." Johnny picked up his scythe with effort. "Me limbs aren't as nimble as they used to be," he said with a minor groan, bringing the scythe to the base of the wheat. "Though I'm stronger than those lazy lads." He pointed with a faint grumble to where his two sons had delayed in their work to flirt with a flock of pretty village girls.

"Oh, let them be, Johnny. I have heard that Francis might marry Adelaide, and her father is very wealthy and most likely will grant her a substantial dowry. So let them be for a while."

Johnny gave another grumble. "Don't count thee chickens before they hatch, lass. I'd much rather them be helping me get me crop in than fiddling their time away goggling at the girls." He spat angrily onto the earth, excusing himself to Elizabeth.

"Don't worry about being polite in front of me, Johnny," she told him, no hint of a reprimand in her voice, "I don't care three winks if you spit. I do it all the time. A great stress reliever, so I say."

Johnny laughed appreciatively. "You're a mighty unusual lass, Lizzy. But I wouldn't have you any other way." He turned back to his scythe and Elizabeth turned back to hers, and they worked until sundown in companionable silence.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
"Oh, Elizabeth!" Jane flew down the garden path to meet her muddied sister, freshly returned from the wheat fields, her hair tousled and face red with sunburn. "You shall never guess!"

Elizabeth cringed inwardly. If this were anything about a ball invitation……

"We've been invited to the Netherfield Ball being given!"

Elizabeth sighed deeply. What else had she expected? Jane never got excited about village bonfires or the Mayday celebration, only about 'balls' and 'parties'.

"Of course, we're too young to attend," continued Jane, oblivious to Elizabeth's discomfort, " but there is to be a smaller party for children on the estate grounds. I am so excited, for we are all to have new dresses!"

Elizabeth moaned. She hated being fitted for new clothes, it was tedious and boring. And, for some odd reason, the seamstress seemed to especially enjoy pricking her with all the pins. "Wonderful, Jane, simply wonderful." Her tone was flat and sarcastic, but Jane chose to ignore it, so excited was she in anticipation of the 'party'.'

"And Mama says we are to ride in the carriage and what fun it shall be! There will be dancing….."

"I can't dance."

"And we shall get to see Isabella and Henrietta and Julietta."

"They are half-witted and have no conversation."

"And we shall get to act all accomplished and grown-up!"

"I am not accomplished or grown-up, so I guess I cannot attend," Elizabeth smiled, a plan coming to mind. "I shall feign illness and you may go without me."

Jane stopped dead in her tracks, so pale it looked as though she might fall into a swoon. Elizabeth grasped her elbow in a concerned fashion. "You must go, Lizzy!" she wailed, her sweet, melodic voice suddenly dramatic and high. "For Mary and Kitty and Lydia are all to young, and if you do not go, then I shall not be able to either!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, surprised at Jane's melodramatics. With a half-hearted sigh and wave of her nimble features, she skirted from her sister's maniac embrace so as to allow herself the freedom of breathing. "I'll think about it, Jane. Though, as you well know, the idea is certainly not appealing."

"But I am sure you would have an excellent time, Lizzy, just consider….."

"I detest parties of any sort. Everyone's so polite and well-mannered. It's absolutely sickening." Lizzy knew she was being cross and disagreeable, but after an entire day spent in laboring in the fields, one could hardly argue that she hadn't a right to be.

Jane glanced sympathetically at her dirtied sister, mentally comparing her own neat, starched gown and Lizzy's mud-stained disaster of a frock in her mind. How different they were! Yet how much they admired and respected each other. "Please consider it, Lizzy. Please. I should so wish to go. After all, Charles is going to introduce me to his sister……"

"Charles!" Elizabeth's head snapped up with alarming rapidity. "For goodness sake! When did you start calling him Charles?"

Jane, realizing the error of her mistake, blushed deeply. "It is nothing, nothing. We are, well, we are good friends, I suppose. I, um, I met him on the lane one afternoon, after running some errands in town for Mama." She fumbled with her bonnet strings, averting her eyes from her sister's intense stare. "I promise! It is nothing more that friendship!"

"As if it would be anything else," reprimanded Elizabeth harshly, her speech curt and abrupt. "After all, Jane Bennet, you are only nine years old. Are you really planning to marry him already?" That exclamation made her smile, though it succeeded in only furthering her sister's mortification.

"No, of course not. We are only friends. Charles is very kind, like a steward brother. I, he. Well," Jane's speech became intermingled with clumsiness, making her close her lips in resolute firmness. "I should say nothing more on the subject, as there is nothing more to be said."

Elizabeth smiled playfully, though her usual gusto was lost in the tiredness she felt from the afternoon's laboring. "Alright, Jane, dear. I'm glad you and Charles are friends. You both are so alike, it is almost frightening."

Jane, blushing an even deeper hue of crimson, resolutely contradicted the statement, though in her heart she knew it was the truth.

--------------------------------------------------------------   
"Please let me stay home with you, Betsy? I promise I shall be good. And I hate parties!" Elizabeth angrily surveyed herself in the mirror, swishing the white frock in mute disagreement. "I can't dance and I'll most likely get into some trouble, so it would be much more beneficial if I stay home tonight and read the Bible to you by the firelight"

It was the eve of the ball, and the Bennet household was in frenzied anticipation, with servants skirting the halls in rapid footfalls and Mrs. Bennet screeching so loudly that everyone's hearing was threatened. Elizabeth and Jane's room was a peaceful solace, as Lizzy was not excited at all about the party and Jane was so happy that she had no words to express herself with.

"As much as I would love for you to stay home, Lizzy-my-Lizzy, you know that it is your duty to attend. All your little friends will be there to amuse you, and the children's party is to be outdoors in one of the little garden courtyards, or so I've heard." Betsy prided herself on her 'connections' ,as she referred to them, and she had a very good source out of the Netherfield Hall kitchen.

Elizabeth sighed defeated. "Yes, all of the prodigious London crowd shall be there, and then all of the insipid Hertfordshire crowd shall be there and it will be so crowded that I'll go crazy!" She jammed pins into her hair angrily, wincing slightly as Betsy intertwined her tresses with a blue silk ribbon. "Must I truly go?"

Betsy nodded stoutly, her figures taut and resolute. "Yes you must, Little Miss, no complaints. If you are good, I'll have some blueberry bread and warm milk waiting by the fire when you return. But if I hear anything bad….."  
"Blueberry bread!" Elizabeth's ears popped up as alert as a cocker spaniel's, "oh, truly, Betsy? You know it is my favorite? But you always let me help you make it!"

"But this time you'll be at the party. Be a good lass and you'll have your bread."

Elizabeth sighed discontentedly. "I be Napoleon doesn't have to go to insipid parties and sit and chat about insipid people and eat insipid sandwiches that couldn't fill a flea's stomach."

Betsy clucked angrily, continuing to arrange her mistress's hair.

…."and Napoleon doesn't have to wear insipid dresses with insipid bows and insipid shoes and insipid jewelry that's much too large and itches." Elizabeth obediently handed Betsy the silver-toothed comb. "And Napoleon doesn't have to do insipid needlework and insipid dancing lessons and insipid……"

"Hush, dear. Your mother's coming. I heart the carriage pulling up. Remember what I said." Betsy half-heartedly completed Lizzy's hair before dodging by the door and bobbing politely to the lady who entered.

Mrs. Bennet ignored her, instead concentrating on the scrawny figure positioned by the mirror. "Are you ready, Elizabeth? Everyone's waiting."

"I'm ready alright," replied Lizzy, standing up and winking slightly at Betsy. "I shall go to the party. For the good of England, Napoleon, and blueberry bread!"


	8. Fashionably Late

Chapter 8:  
Fashionably Late

It is universally puzzling, the transformation that a home undergoes when under party supervision. It seems to almost anticipate the forthcoming events to take place underneath its roof, as if it is truly aware of the circumstances. Netherfield Hall was no different. That evening especially it seemed to welcome the flocks of elegantly dressed people that waltzed lazily beneath its grand entranceway, as if personally greeting them itself. The soft glow of moonlight serenaded it gently, basking it in the lovely glow so merciful to bare corners and spotted plants, and making it appear to be straight from the pages of a fairy tale novel. Arbors erected especially for the occasion cascaded with ivy and jasmine, while hundreds of candles flickered jovially about the garden walkways. Indeed, if ever it was a handsome place, that evening it was truly beautiful.

Elizabeth was no stranger to beautiful things. She loved them, as all people do, though her love was not delved from a vain principle. Instead it was more of an impetuous affection; a momentary nod that she approved, a gleam of the eye that revealed her satisfaction. That evening she glanced up at the imposing structure, with its graceful eaves and silhouetted balconies, and smiled. Faintly at first, but then an ever-changing line upwards. Regrets of attendance and anger slipped away; the reason of her moodiness was forgotten in a half-second. Breathing in the fragrance of the twilight air, she forgot all anger in the anticipation of reacquainting herself with the occupants of the grand estate.

Jane glanced at her sister with the first beginnings of surprise. Just a moment ago Lizzy had been morose and quiet, and now she was smiling happily! Could such a lovely night really transform her sister's melancholy mood? She glanced up at the pretty structure set before her; not able to refrain from smiling herself. How could anyone not? There she was at the most important party that season, dressed in a pretty new frock, and standing in front of the most prodigious home in all Hertfordshire. Who would not be excited and anticipation?

"Remember girls," said Mrs. Bennet, with a sharply construed inhale of breath, "you are to be on your best of behavior. I will hear from no one of your misdeeds or pranks. And Lizzy," here Elizabeth was jerked from her reverie, "you especially had better not get into any mischief!"

"Me?" asked Elizabeth innocently, her eyes sparkling with amusement, "get into mischief? What a novel idea!" She smiled at her father's snort, catching his weathered blue eye just in time for the quickest of winks. Never mind the extent of elegantly dressed people parading up the stairs with fashionable pomp. She was her father's daughter, and nothing could be more distinguished.

At the entrance parent and children were separated; Mr. and Mrs. Bennet towards the grand dining hall for dinner and dancing, while Elizabeth and Jane were led towards a large courtyard on the outer grounds to mingle amongst the younger generations of guests.

"I must confess I'm rather frightened," confided Jane to Elizabeth, once they were abandoned by the servant towards the ravaging confines of younger Hertfordshire society, "none of the faces appear familiar. Where are Charlotte, Clara, Elton, and John? What ever happened to Martha, Ellen, or Nathanial? "

Elizabeth shrugged. "Perhaps Mr. Darcy invited some of his fashionable friends from London. It is plain to see that many of them appear to have their noses out of joint. Perhaps it is caused by the unnatural way they hold them in the air." She laughed heartily at that one, trying to lighten the intimidating atmosphere, though Jane seemed neither amused nor comforted. Elizabeth's laughter egged away.

"I feel so, so, dull," replied Jane, touching her new frock with apparent disdain, "the seamstress promised me that this was the latest fashion, but look at all the rich satins and silks we see here! I feel as though a pigeon amidst peacocks."

"But a very pretty pigeon," replied Lizzy, scanning the area for any traces of her friends. "And where is Darcy when you need him? Most likely cowering under the dining table. He detests parties."

"I wish we hadn't come," continued Jane, oblivious to her sister's side comments, "we haven't a clue as to the identities of anyone, and what countrified bumpkins we appear to be." She turned pale as a loud peal of laughter resounded from the lips of an unnaturally tall, sallow looking girl standing not far from their position near a fashionably cultured garden hedge.

In a whisper intentionally loud, she said, "Look, Louisa, those two standing there. Do you think they're servants? Perhaps we should go and ask them to fetch us a glass of punch. I'm feeling to fatigued to get it myself."

Elizabeth continued scanning for her friends, ignoring the comments. "Just pretend they're not there," she told Jane, "its not any concern of ours. Let them insult and degrade us to numerous extent. Who cares?" Standing on tip-toe, she surveyed the crowd.

Apparently the sallow-faced girl and her giggling cohort were not satisfied with their slight, for with exaggerated flourish, they waltzed over to the very position where Lizzy and Jane were standing. "Excuse me," said the tall one, turning to her friend and pretending to sustain a giggle, "but I was just about to ask….."

"Oh, there you are!" Elizabeth turned to her with mock appreciation, "for I was just about to go in search for you. After all, you wouldn't expect me to carry away my own coat, would you?" She smiled obligingly, shedding her pale blue pelisse and handing it to the shocked girl before her. "Thank you, dear." Turning to Jane she said, "Netherfield servants are so obliging. It is as if they can personally sense when you are too fatigued to put away your own coat." She smiled at the slowly reddening duo before her, "Be careful with it, I just had it made. And, if you can spare a moment, try and fetch me a glass of punch at the table."

The girl was so perpetually bemused that she was rendered speechless for a few moments, though, when she finally recovered her tongue, words flowed effortlessly. "How dare you!" If ever a person was capable of murderous rage, this towering inferno of coiffed raven curls and narrowed green eyes was a perfect candidate. "How dare you ever allude to such degradation and outrage! I'll have you know, little Miss. Insolence, that I am one of the richest, most influential young women in London society! Furthermore, I am related to an earl!"

"And I am related to the King," replied Elizabeth pertly, "therefore, that makes me some semblance of a princess. Though, seeing as you seem rather flustered at the moment, I shall be gracious enough as to not demand you to curtsy to me or my sister."

The delicate fan so coyly placed in the girl's left hand began to crack from pressure, as she said, in slow, deliberate words, "You….are….the….most….insolent! Countrified! Pitiable! Ridiculous creature I have ever, ever, ever, ever……"she trailed off, unable to remember her final words, so angry was she over the passing events.

"Met?" replied Elizabeth with a smirk, "is that the word you are searching for? Met. Or, if you prefer French, mettre." She turned slightly, surveying the gaudily dressed duo in front of her, as if for the first time. Head cocked slightly to one side, she resembled an intelligent, impetuous dog concealing an excellent joke. The two girls did not look so amused.

"Why you little……"

"Caroline! Louisa!" Charles Bingley's good-natured tones rang out above the slow drone of all other courtyard voices, an angel sent to rescue Elizabeth and Jane from the ravages of the two monstrous sisters before them. "There you are. And what good fortune! The two people I was most anxious for you to meet!" He beamed at Elizabeth and Jane, his kind face glowing with happiness. "This is excellent luck indeed!"

Elizabeth had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. She surveyed him with complete and total appreciation, her eyes conveying gratitude of an enormous extent. Without his assistance, she was afraid that the two fire-breathing dragons before them might have eaten them up. "Why, hello, Charles. Imagine meeting you here! What," she turned towards the pair with a honeyed smile, "excellent fortune."

Charles, unaware of the animosity between the pair, bumbled on to explain his appearance. "I'm so sorry that I'm late. Darcy required some assistance in fetching Wickham from his room. Poor chap hasn't been feeling well lately. It's probably due to the food. He's allergic to several different spices prominent in the chef's cooking." He smiled at Jane, then blushed to his ears and focused on his feet. "Darcy will be along soon, after he checks on Georgiana in the nursery. Wickham's around here somewhere." He continued to focus on his feet, still bumbling on, unaware that he had not formally made introductions. A gentle 'ump' from Elizabeth reminded him of the fact.

"Oh dear," the poor fellow was so red he resembled a beet, "I have not had the pleasure of introducing everyone." He turned towards the two girls with a half-smile, " Caroline, Louisa, these are my good friends Elizabeth and Jane Bennet. And Elizabeth, Jane, these are two of my sisters, Caroline and Louisa. They will be staying here the remainder of the summer, you know."

"It is a pleasure and great honor to meet you, Miss. Bingley," replied Elizabeth with aplomb, sweeping a lavish curtsy and smiling broadly, as if she had never seen Caroline before in her life, "I do not know anyone related to an earl, which can only further my anticipation at meeting you."

Jane's curtsy was subdued and modest, lacking the boldness and bravery of her sister; she was the one more likely to make up for past battles rather than begin new ones. "A pleasure, Caroline, Louisa," she said with her eyes lowered, "and I apologize for my younger sister's bold manner. She means no harm. She is only a child."

Charles looked perplexed, Caroline less enraged, Elizabeth rather hurt, and Louisa simply unchanged. Jane hardly was one to say more than the usual polite greeting, and such an extraordinary apology for her sister was rarely heard. Indeed, she was hardly one to ever criticize, and hearing her refer to Elizabeth as only a 'child' was highly irregular for her personality.

"Well, well," Charles, continuing from his astonishment at the unusual greeting, remained all smiles, "it is nice to have introductions over. I hope that everyone will become good friends. It is, after all, excellent to have an abundance of friends. I am sure we shall all get along capitally."

At that time they were interrupted by the arrival of Darcy, who looked, above all other words, absolutely mortified upon discovering that Caroline was part of the group. Resembling a deer in fleeting fear, he practically sunk into a corner of the stone edifice.

Elizabeth noted, with some amusement, that an unusual change came over Caroline. With a toss of her raven hair, she was instantly sweet and simpering, purely devoted to attaching herself to Darcy. She lavished compliments about the party, was long in eloquent speeches about the grandeur of Netherfield Hall, and could not believe that someone so 'modest' could throw such a wonderfully exquisite party.

Elizabeth was sympathetic to his plight, especially when he cast her a pleading glance, though she was not about to involve herself with Caroline Bingley again. Instead, she chatted absently with Charles and Jane for awhile, exchanged pleasantries with a sulking Wickham who happened along, and eventually found herself surrounded by treats at the refreshment table.

It was during a particularly hard choice between a cherry tart and apple strudel (unable to make a hasty decision, Elizabeth downed both) when Elton, John, Charlotte, and Clara found her.

"Have you seen these refined invaders from London?" asked Elton in a supposed sneer, crossing his hands dejectedly over his chest, "they simper and talk in low whispers and won't discuss anything but refined topics. It's absolutely maddening!"

"Here, here!" replied John, slapping his hand firmly on his knee, "absolutely maddening!"

"I think they're elegant and beautiful," replied Clara with a wistful sigh, while gazing hungrily at a silk-emblazoned pumpkin dress that swished by in a haughty fashion. "And what wonderfully stunning clothes they wear! If only I could have a silk dress made up in the same way!"

Charlotte was quick to agree. "Or one made of damask. I would prefer a violet hue, perhaps a silk. With a long ostrich feather in my hair and diamond-buckled shoes at my feet. What elegance that would be!"

"Have you all gone mad?" exclaimed Elizabeth with vengeance, seizing a napkin and crushing it angrily, "we're pirates, not polished ladies straight from France! I'll hear no more of this 'refined' chitter-chatter or 'beautiful' dresses. I've had enough of elegance to last me a lifetime, and if I hear anymore of it, I'll force you to swab the decks for a week! You can't get anymore refined than hard lye soap and water."

The group hung their heads low, faces crimson from embarrassment. Silk dresses and diamond buckled shoes disappeared from memory as quick as a whip lash, leaving only mortification behind. To anger their leader was treachery indeed, and rarely ever attempted.

"Alright, alright," grumbled Lizzy, after a moment or two of heavy silence, broken only by the elegant twittering of the courtyard's occupants, "that's quite enough of my reprimands. Let bygones be bygones." Standing up energetically, she surveyed the outskirts of the property. "Instead of sitting around doing nothing, let's find something fun!"

"Like what?" inquired John, elbow propping up his face with its tousled curls, "dance and talk about tea parties? Or better yet, sip daintily at warm tea and take two bites of a crumb cake?"

Elizabeth laughed heartily. "Even better, John, my friend. Let's go walk out and see the sheep!" She motioned jovially to the position where sheep were enclosed down by the lower valley. To the untrained eye, it would appear only to be a wicker fence enclosing a white blur, but Elizabeth, used to farm duties, could spot a sheep as quickly as a dog. "It will be great fun! And sheep are such better dance partners than the company we're in!"

The entire group nodded energetically, smiles instantly alighting their faces, though little Clara looked less than eager. As a matter of fact, her face was chiseled with suspicion. "You wait for me, Elizabeth Bennet," she said with concern, as lithe Lizzy skirted off the courtyard cobblestone and into the grassy flatland of the valley, "for I know you're up to something and I certainly don't approve. As a matter of fact, I don't approve at all!" She stepped into a mud puddle and eyed her dress with disdain. "Oh! What will Mama say?"

Elizabeth laughed, tossing her hands to the open, evening air. "Who cares, Clara? Let us escape from this elegant prison to the wonderful world of sheep and their unrefined ways!" With a spurt of speed, she flew down the hillside, Elton, John, and Charlotte at her heels. Cautious Clara stood behind, walking down regally, her little nose held high.

Lizzy reached the sheep pen first, skirting straight over the fence in blatant disregard of the latch. Humming slightly, she eagerly rubbed a grey-spectacled sheep, her brown paw issuing up and down its fluffy coat in a soothing fashion. "What a good fellow you are," she said reassuringly, as the others caught up at the gate, "so nice and obliging."

Elton and John leapt wildly over the fence, joining Lizzy in the sheep pen with mild ease. Charlotte and Clara drug behind, the former from a heavy skirt and the latter from lack of anticipation.

"I shall not climb over the fence." Clara crossed her arms over the chest in stubborn independence, "it is undignified and unladylike. I will assist myself in through the gate. " With her head at a haughty angle, she did just that, opening the large gate and stepping in……

Elizabeth sustained laughter as all twenty sheep instantly bolted through the opening, stampeding poor Clara into a far corner. It was just as she had anticipated; her entire plan coming into play. With a loud hoot, she leapt back over the fence and herded the sheep jovially towards the courtyard.

The most important Netherfield Party guests were about to arrive…… fashionably late.


	9. And the Plot Thickens

_And The Plot Thickens_

Darcy was imminently bored. For over a quarter of an hour Caroline had pinned him to the southeast wall, talking of dull subjects that were about as interesting as the mole on his left arm, and frequently laying her perfume-drenched claws over his hands. He direly wished he could escape down the peaceful stream that wound its way about the courtyard's edge, though he realized that such an attempt would render him inhospitable in the eyes of his other party guests.

He was angry at Elizabeth, to be sure. To have abandoned him so heartlessly to the ravages of Caroline Bingley was completely without excuse. And to think that she was probably up to some excellent prank without his involvement! The idea was absolutely appalling to Darcy, and he shook his head desolately at the mere thought.

_I detest parties!_ He thought, in his mind, as Caroline chattered cattily on about Harriet Banks-Thomas's ugly lilac hat. _I detest Caroline Bingley! I detest sitting around here doing nothing! But, most of all, I detest Elizabeth Bennet for abandoning me! _He swung his hand moodily through his dark curls, wondering if Caroline would ever learn how to close her mouth.

…. "and Harriet is the worst of flirts, Darcy, dear," continued on Caroline, attempting to be coy and innocent of flirtatiousness, "for she is always clinging to the richest, most eligible person in London, and wearing the most hideous outfits!"

_And in that, madam_,thought Darcy angrily, _you have just perfectly described your own character._

…. "she cannot, nor will not, acknowledge there are others much more distinguished than herself, not to mention more beautiful," Caroline raised her eyebrows knowingly, smiling as if sharing a rather remarkable inside joke. Her defeat arose when Darcy responded with a mere grunt of acknowledgement, and not the polite compliment she had anticipated. "She is nothing like Louisa and myself," she bumbled on, realizing that it was better not to prod the reclusive boy into speaking, "for at least we know our proper way about London society. Why if it wasn't for me, she wouldn't have a single friend amidst Lady Thomason Lawrence's_ Young Ladies Seminary._"

Darcy responded with yet another grunt, and Caroline felt the onslaught of impatience as she noticed his gaze was focused on the crowd and not on her _lovely _face upon which she had spent hours pinching, prodding, and poking into perfection. "I ran into her yesterday at the milliner's shop, where Mama and I were selecting satin for my new ball gown," she said, continuing onward with perseverance, as she swished the elegant orange concoction she was sporting in front of his face, "and she was there as well, picking up some gloves she had recently had fitted. You can imagine my shock when she pretended not to recognize me and left without a backwards glance. And her mother! Disposed to be so agreeable!"

Darcy pretended to be appalled at Harriet's lack of proper etiquette, much to the delight of Caroline, who realized that at least she had some form of her comrade's attention, though in reality her voice was really going out one ear and through the other. He nodded at the proper intervals, allowing her to plow onwards of her intense dislike of the girl, his eyes intent upon the crowd as she searched for the familiar sight of a too-tall, beanstalk girl with blueberry eyes and brown-toned skin. Unfortunately, and to his dismay, he saw no such person, only Charles Bingley whispering to Jane Bennet and George slinking around empty-headed but wealthy Lady Tabitha Greenbush.

_What would Elizabeth do in this situation_? He asked himself, watching Caroline swing her arms about at a particularly passionate representation of her hatred for Harriet's ugly lilac hat. _She would at least find some form or fashion of escaping, some silly excuse to get herself out of such a dull, awkward situation_.

And then it came to him, a miracle! Leaping gracefully over the small brook that wound about the courtyard's edge, gliding neatly over the small intercropping of vegetable plants. Soaring, flying, dancing to his rescue in the form of an ugly, grey-speckled sheep!

"What, oh!" Caroline's voice caught in her throat as she too caught sight of what was occurring, though in her mind it was hardly worth referring to as a miracle. "Are those. Surely not. Fitzwilliam, are those, _SHEEP_!" A loud wail emitted from her lips as she realized their disastrous circumstances. It was then that Darcy remembered she was terrified of the harmless creatures.

"Hold….hold on Caroline," he calmed her flailing arms, biting back a smile in reference to being a gentleman. "Go and," he surveyed the rapidly chaotic party, as another wave of sheep followed the apparent leader into the heart of the courtyard, "go and wait by the refreshment table. It's safest there." He gave her a gentle push, glad to be rid of her company, before dashing past animal and party guest alike to find the root of the situation.

As he had guessed, Elizabeth Bennet, flying up the hill with her hair flowing free, was the culprit of the situation.

"Elizabeth Bennet," he cried, as she reached him at the climax of the hill, a wide smile plastered across her face, "what on earth have you done now?"

She paused momentarily, watching as the courtyard's occupants ran about in frenzied motion, attempting to avoid equally frightened sheep, before turning to address him. "I thought that your party was excessively dull, so I invited some dear friends of mine to liven it up a bit." Her eyes twinkled merrily, and Darcy, knowing fully it was wrong could not help laughing himself.

"We will get into a lot of trouble for this," he told her, "though I couldn't say that it won't be worth it."

Elizabeth laughed. "I suppose you are right there." She winked carelessly, her eyes alight with excitement as she quickly exited his company in pursuit of Simon, the ugly, grey-spectacled sheep leader, leaving Darcy bemused as to his next course of action. As he had no experience in the field of sheep herding, he retired to the safety of the ivy-encrusted gondola to contemplate further action.

Lizzy glanced over her shoulder as Darcy strode away the opposite direction. Unable to stay rooted to her spot for a moment's hesitation, she warily continued onward, masking her surprise at his retreat. Neverless, her feet guided her forward, directly towards the refreshment table behind which Caroline Bingley stood shaking.

Lizzy pushed past sheep and human alike to get to her. "Are you quite alright, Miss. Bingley?" she inquired, attempting to keep the bite of sarcasm from her tongue. "Is the evening satisfactory to your health?"

Caroline, frightened out of her wits by the passing events, turned red and purple in rage. "Why you little monster!" she cried, her face a turret of suppressed anger. "How dare you! How dare you destroy such a lovely party! Terrorize such lovely people! You deserve no better than…."

"Save your breath to cool your porridge," replied Elizabeth with grace, as she sidestepped a rampaging sheep, "for you had better pay more care to your present situation than as to the occupants of the former grand Darcy dinner party."

The sheep she had side-stepped, a literal wooly mammoth, angrily butted his head into the refreshment table, causing a rain of apple tart, cherry strudel, and sauerkraut to come raining down upon the already pumpkin-bread splattered Caroline. Elizabeth, in an athletic effort, saved the crystal punch bowl from perishing the fate of becoming shards, though she accidentally tripped over a passing guest, spilling the red contents onto Caroline's new London ball gown.

"I'm sorry, Caroline!" Lizzy cried, quickly sprinting towards the edge of the courtyard, along with a herd of other screaming, wailing, and crying party guests.

She spotted George Wickham and his lady fair, as George heroically swung Tabitha past the crowd. Unfortunately, he was unaware of the stream's close proximity, causing he and his maiden to fall headfirst into the cold, rushing waters. As for Jane and Bingley, they sought solace on the outskirts of the courtyard where Jane watched Lizzy with questioning eyes and Bingley looked helpless and unassuming.

"Elizabeth, you are in over your head." Lizzy turned to find Darcy standing at her side, his eyes twinkling, as he folded his arms sternly over his chest. "Just look at what you have done!"

Lizzy turned to observe the courtyard, her head cocked slightly to the side. The ivy-encrusted banisters had been knocked down by sheep, the refreshment table was a shadow of its former self, and the party guests had either fallen into the stream or were huddled around Jane and Bingley on the safer side of the courtyard.

"Everything looks exquisitely beautiful," she said, turning to face Darcy, who was sustaining a laugh. "I've never seen the Netherfield Hall courtyard looking better." She jumped and grabbed a near tree branch, narrowly escaping the fate of being bumped by a wild-eyed animal.

"You have certainly gotten us into a large scrape," replied Darcy, dodging a creature himself. "Too say the very least."

Elizabeth nodded melodramatically, her eyes downcast as she surveyed the tips of her scuffed shoes. "I am sorry about ruining your party, Darcy," she told him apologetically, "but even you must admit that it was quite a bore."

Darcy had to agree with the girl. "There you are right, Lizzy," he said with finality, "it was certainly not the most enthralling experience, and, to tell you the blatant truth, quite painful to attend." He avoided yet another sheep, sighing as the animal lumbered past him to congregate with the others in the heart of the courtyard. "Surely you must have some plan of cleaning this mess up?"

"We shall have to herd the sheep back up," replied Elizabeth placidly, "for they must all be returned to the pen, and there are twenty of them in counting."

"That will be quite a task," replied Darcy, disposing of his outer jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, "though not impossible."

Elizabeth nodded. "My opinion exactly," she responded, "but we had better hurry, or the consequences will be grave." She casually sidestepped Caroline Bingley, who had lunged at her from nowhere, causing the poor, distinguished young lady to go toppling headfirst into the stream.

"Shall we be started?" inquired Darcy, as if murderous villainesses with evil intentions that lunged at innocent girls with blueberry eyes were everyday occurrences, "for the sheep apparently are becoming more subdued."

"Yes," replied Elizabeth, raising her arms slightly, "let us begin."

And so they departed towards the enemy, Darcy running towards the left and Elizabeth towards the right, as they herded all twenty sheep in counting over the squalling children in the stream, past the children on the safe side of the banks, and down the sloping hill towards the wicker gate. There they safely enclosed them in the padlock, whispered soothing words to them in comfort, climbed back to the courtyard, put back up the ivy-encrusted poles, cleaned up the apple strudel that littered the ground, threatened and soothed the frightened, angry guests, pulled screaming children from the brook, and had everything back in perfect order by the time that the elegant parents returned.

"Did you have a good time, Lizzy-my-Lizzy?" inquired Mr. Bennet to his second eldest as they departed for the carriage.

Elizabeth, silencing Jane with a glare, replied, "Yes, sir. The Darcy garden party was quite," here she paused laughingly, "interesting."


	10. Friends At Last

_Friends At Last _

Despite frequent intervals of worry and several pieces of blueberry bread, Lizzy resolutely consoled herself to the fact that the young party-guests mouths would be permanently sealed as to the events that had unfolded beneath their eyes the previous evening. And if any of them did speak, who would believe them? Their parents would not certainly not complain to the wealthy and high-off Mr. Darcy and would most assuredly refrain from offending his soon to be eligible son.

And so the summer months passed pleasantly, regardless of the new entrance of Caroline and Louisa Bingley to the social circle. Lazy mornings were spent rambling about Browning Pond, nibbling gingerbread cookies from Martha's tidy cottage, catching frogs and worms and snails and other such creatures by the banks of the Moorington Lake, and playing pirates on the makeshift bridge that spanned its waters. Afternoons were jovial affairs in which Lizzy, Darcy, and the groupe would work in the wheat fields, pay afternoon calls on Bertha and her one-eyed cat, have swashbuckling sword fights in the glen, and end with dinner at Longbourne or Netherfield.

Darcy and Lizzy would not be parted for anything. Though neither would admit it, they were highly dependent upon one another, frequently finishing each other's sentences and coming up with simultaneous ideas. On rainy days they would console themselves to the enormous Bennet library, reading and having scholarly discussions, oftentimes presided over by Mr. Bennet himself. On sunny days their adventures were too numerous to be disclosed, and carried out in confident, brash manners.

Mr. Darcy himself came to regard Lizzy as a sort of daughter, and was often found to refer to her as an adult within the body of a child, tailoring her education as he saw fit and often allowing her lessons with Caroline and the other children. "She is the brightest child I have ever met," he told George Bennet one afternoon, as Lizzy and Darcy sat pouring over a book of Latin terms, "and never have I seen someone pick up history, literature, and arithmetic as rapidly as she does! Her intelligence level is equal to Darcys', and she has not even had an inkling of formal education!"

Even the Netherfield servants began to regard Lizzy as one of their own, for she was known to be best friends with the kitchen staff, on excellent terms with the gardeners (from whom she delved several useful lessons), extremely helpful to the household maids, and polite and courteous to Nanny Craig and the Italian governess, Miss. Papillae. Rather than using her connections with the very distinguished family of fortune to the ill-use of conceited arrogance, she seemed only to blossom and extend her circle of friends to an even greater height.

Drusilla Craig she befriended instantly, as the two were endeared to each other from the start. Elizabeth enjoyed the latter's intelligent conversation and docile courage, while Drusilla admired Lizzy's outgoing spunk and adventurous sense of mischief. Though they moved in two different realms of social circles, Drusilla was still allotted two hours off from her daily chores in order to join Elizabeth, Darcy and the 'groupe' in their various activities, and even though her mother was apt to frown upon such 'mischief', she was indeed glad that her daughter to make friends.

As for Lady Catherine, she regarded Elizabeth with her customary arrogance and condescension, rarely, if ever, addressing the child, even during her frequent visits to Netherfield Hall. Forgiveness for the event that had so 'tarnished' her proud nature was unacceptable, and she even refused to let her daughter associate with the poor girl, robbing her of any chance of becoming friends with energetic Lizzy. "A terrible influence," she told her constantly, "not fit to be any sort of comrade for _my _daughter!" And yet, deep within her heart, then noble lady herself had some stirrings of admiration for the girl, no matter how she contested them aloud. Indeed, she demanded that Darcy stop seeing the girl and her 'ruffian' friends.

But Darcy adamantly refused to be parted from her, and, as his father loved the child too, the two were allowed as much time together as could possibly be afforded.  
Indeed, the two were so much together that summer, many began to believe they were joined at the hip.

And yet all wonderful things must soon come to an end, and eventually the lush, green atmosphere of golden summer drifted into the chilly, harsh reality of fall, marking the end of the Darcys' summer stay at Netherfield Hall. It was then that the shutters began to close, the china packed, the rugs beaten, and heavy mahogany chests loaded up into carriages bearing the Darcy crest. Elizabeth, in a surge of affection for her noble and servant friends alike, came down the day before the Darcy departure to offer her assistance in the last minute preparations and packing. It was there also that she encountered a bitter and sulking Darcy.

"Really, Darcy," she said, encountering him in the hallway, after her fond farewell to his father, "it's not that much longer until next summer."

"Not that long!" he cried, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "I will not get to see you or Elton or Charlotte or John or Clara for an entire year!"

Sensible Lizzy bit back laughter. "There is always pen and paper correspondence," she told him soothingly, "and, if it will make you feel better, I shall write you every week about the goings on around Hertfordshire. And, if you will loan me the book on Latin terms, I shall be able to write you letters in Latin."

"That would be a bit better," he responded gloomily, "though it would be nothing as to actually getting to talk to you in person. And I don't want to go back to that insipid school! Don't you realize I'll eventually have to go off to Cambridge? Then I won't get to see you at all!"

"Don't pout, Darcy," Elizabeth told him, "it is certainly not becoming to anyone. Stop behaving as if you were a spoiled child. You cannot always have your way! We've survived without each other before, I am sure that we can do it again."

He glanced down at the newly polished floors, scowling at his reflection. "I hate talking to anyone else _but _you, Lizzy," he informed her quietly, "I don't make friends easily; for some reason it doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to you."

"Practice makes perfect," she replied, "do you think that I learnt how to play the piano overnight? If only you would try!"

His scowl grew deeper. "It is so hard to keep one's countenance when daily surrounded by people the likes of Caroline Bingley," he informed her, glancing at the room behind his shoulder in which girlish whining could be distinguished. "I suppose that is why I enjoy your company so much. You are fresh and wise, whereas Caroline is selfish and arrogant. I am arrogant too, I suppose."

"But there is a human being underneath it all," Elizabeth responded, slipping her brown paw into his own, while swinging it cheerfully, "if only you would take time and come into the realization that you are your own self."

It was then he looked into her eyes, so young-yet so old-blue as the cornflowers that grew wild near the forest, as soft as the sky on a clear summer's day, yet as dark as the sea when driven by storm-tossed waters. He would never forget those eyes, intelligent and sincere, and every time he closed his eyes he would picture them in all their electricity. "Elizabeth Bennet, you are my best friend. You are dearer to me than George Wickham or Charles Bingley. And much more obliging than Caroline Bingley."

Lizzy laughed, listening as it echoed throughout the high-ceiling vestibule. "I guess that I will take that as a compliment," she replied merrily, "though I do not know if being compared to Caroline-in any form-is necessarily good."

"But it was a compliment," he insisted, dropping her hand and blushing hotly, "I was paying you a compliment." There, he had admitted it, he actually admired Elizabeth Bennet. The tom-boy that was the cause of all his major verbal battles.

It was odd, they seemed never to get along and disagreed on everything, and yet they were the two people that seemed most alike.

"So I suppose that you have admitted you want to be friends?" inquired Elizabeth cheerfully, "for we have had all summer to become acquainted. You are, indeed, an interesting character and well worth _my _acknowledgement." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

He laughed, his color returning to its usual dark hue, as he eyed her warily. "Friends then, I suppose?" He awkwardly extended a hand.

She ignored the hand, enveloping him in a hug. "Naturally," she replied, patting him on the back before returning to her former position. "We shall be very good friends and even better corresponders."

"So you shall write to me?" he inquired attentively, shifting his knee and straightening his position.

She laughed. "I will. I promise. Every week faithfully. And if I do not, then you have full permission to push me into Browning Pond next summer." Her eyes were dancing and she gave him one last hug before departing to wish the servants a happy rest of the year.

Darcy stood standing there, watching her retreat towards the kitchens, her footfalls making sharp 'taps' upon the floor. It was an unusual good-bye for an unusual girl, thought he, and he almost wondered if there had been some hidden meaning within her light, airy phrases so resilient with golden memories. Had Lizzy been trying to convey to him something that could not be spoken in words?

He did not want to leave Netherfield Hall; he wanted to stay there forever and ever. He wanted to live there and see Elizabeth every day, during rants down in the wheat fields and play-acts for the peasants. Wild Lizzy, who, underneath her mischievous exterior, really possessed a warm and compassionate heart. Non-judgmental Elizabeth who not only befriended the servants, but also immersed herself in their trades, ready to learn with open ears, open eyes, and an open heart.

"Good-bye," he said softly, taking in the grand entranceway of Netherfield, with its sculpted columns, soaring ceilings, polished floors, and austere grandfather clock. "Let us pray that I shall see you all next year."


	11. A Very Morose Pirate

_This is just a letter explaining a new character addition to the story. I think you will enjoy the fact that both Elizabeth and Darcy are growing older and more mature. The next chapter will involve the Darcys' return to Netherfield Hall._

**A Very Morose Pirate**

Dear Darcy,

I write to you today perched upon an old cabbage crate, wrapped in an ancient quilt, eating sour green apples, and contemplating an event which recently unfolded this afternoon.

But, in order to understand my vexation at today's occurrence, you must first be informed of the enormous changes Longbourne has undergone in your absence.

A week ago my cousin, Amelia Lawrence, arrived by carriage to spend an undesignated amount time at Longbourne. I thought I should like her at first, for she was very pleasant and kind to Father and Mama, though, as I began to realize, that was more of an act than a genuine virtue. This I discovered when I had to assist her up to _my _room, where, as soon as Mama was out of earshot, she instantly lashed into a tirade of her 'rules of conduct'. This was proclaimed hastily as she thumbed through the volume of Shakespeare on the nightstand, the blue china bowl in which Maid Marion rested, the collection of beetles in a jar on the fireplace mantle, the bird-nest on the windowsill, and the battered desk with the manuscript of my Blondebeard stories. I was very vexed.

I informed her then-in a very calm and patient manner-that the room was _mine_, Maid Marion, the beetles, and the bird-nest were _not _a danger to her health, and that she would not be able to have my entire closet space, as I required at least half for my private collection of books.

On the whole, I was very dignified and reasonable, extending a fair peace treaty- which she ought to have accepted. But Amelia was not prepared to be diplomatic.

That is the exact reason that she took up her case with Mama, who informed me dramatically that Maid Marion, the beetles, the bird-nest, and all other of my 'odious' personal possessions were to be either removed or replaced with Amelia's French lace ribbons, bell-embellished shoes, and gilded mirror with its frou-frou stool and elegant silk curtains.

Papa was helpless in the situation, and my room was eventually turned into an elegant nightmare. Thus I proclaimed my obvious disdain for Amelia's methods, packed up Maid Marion and her blue china bowl, rescued the bird-nest from the rest of the garbage, and gathered up my entire collection of literary works only to move to the upstairs garret, where at least I would be guaranteed some of my sanity.

Amelia was apparently satisfied.

That evening at dinner she informed me that she would require me to fix her hair every morning at eight-o'clock sharp. I informed her that she would be required to fix her own hair or risk being thrown into the icy waters of the brook. Then, as was becoming quite customary, she took up her complaint with Mama, who sentenced me to the terrifying task of Amelia's hair-arranging as well as a week's allotment of embroidery.

My patient was, even at that early point, beginning to wear thin.

The next morning it rained, so I confined myself to the study with Papa to work on my Blondebeard manuscript. It was coming along quite nicely until Amelia discovered my location and bombarded in to request my presence in the act of playing dolls.

I informed her that I did not play dolls, Jane would be a ready companion, and, if she was not satisfied with such, to play dolls by herself.

This did not go over well with Amelia, and, with a swish of pink satin and lace, she was off in search of Mama's justice. Father, once again, looked helpless in the onslaught of such feminine reprimand, and I was forced, for the next three-quarters of an hour, to play dolls with someone I despised.

At lunch I had to cut her meat for her, that afternoon I had to assist her in trying on dresses, and, later that evening, I had to read her the stories of a simple-headed princess with golden hair and no mind of her own.

That evening I was so fatigued and disgusted by what I had accomplished that day that I forgot to say good-night to Betsy and to read to Sophy and the other children.

I began to plot complete and total revenge.

The next morning I was up before sunrise. Donning my clogs, I rushed out into the glorious open air to relieve my mind. I walked around the village and had breakfast with Tom the baker before visiting the bookstore and returning the volume I had borrowed. At length, I returned home, my spirits considerably raised after a detour to Bertha's cottage.

Amelia was, naturally, searching to torment me.

She inquired where I had been, and I made up the first silly little excuse that came to mind. Then I excused myself to the garret before she could think up some errand or chore she required, secretly plotting revenge. It was then that I had a brilliant idea.

As soon as I reached the garret, I threw open the trunk of make-believe clothing from nearly centuries ago, plowing through the moth-eaten costumes of old until at last I came upon a seventeenth-century man's outfit that was much to large but completely perfect for my scheme. I thrust it and some other necessary objects into a bag before slipping out the back stairwell undetected by Amelia.

I then rushed to Lucas Lodge to enlist Charlotte in aid, and we rounded up Clara, John, and Elton. By Browning Pond I instructed them in our act and it was there that we donned the costumes and perfected the details.

When I returned to Longbourne, disguised as a swashbuckling pirate of old, I discovered Amelia out in the front yard, carefully raising her dress to avoid mud puddles and calling my name at a decibel below that of screaming.

I then called her name in my regular voice, instructing her that I was down by the glen, and, that if she hurried, she would find the most glorious playhouse of cedar and paint that had ever been fit for tea parties and dolls. As she did not possess a keen sense of suspicion, Amelia daintily followed the beaten path to the glen where my groupe sat waiting.

I took the backpaths and arrived there minutes before her, crouching low in the thistle brush to await her arrival. In the oak trees hung Elton and John, while a wary Charlotte and Clara laid low beneath the mulberry.

Not five minutes later did Amelia arrive, clad in her usual silken attire, with bows draped elegantly through her hair. She searched long and hard for the beautiful playhouse but found none. And, as she stood there rather helplessly, searching for a nonexistent playhouse, we all leaped from our positions and surrounded her, our pirate costumes disguising our identities.

She screamed loudly, though, as we were so distant from any near people, it really did not matter. We laughed at her fear, berated her in boorish, foreign voices, and tied her up, bound from elegant head to elegant toe. And to top the moment of crowning pirate revenge, I requested that she jump into a large mud puddle.

Amelia was only too happy to oblige, and her beautiful silk afternoon dress became stained with mud as she leaped and fell into the puddle.

Oh, how we laughed! I could practically not contain my mirth when we finally unbound her and watched her run screaming towards Longbourne. Charlotte and Clara looked intensely guilty and set off quickly towards the hills, while I relived ever moment of my rather sweet revenge under the sycamore tree with John and Elton.

Hours passed and at last I skipped merrily back through the underbrush, up the back stairwell, and into my room, humming happily with my success. Unfortunately, when I turned the doorknob to the garret, I discovered not a solitary scene with my usual cheerful accommodations, but Mama, hands on her hips, starring angrily at my surprised face.

And there was Amelia beside her, a smirk upon her lips, adorned in a fresh frock covered in bows.

I will leave the rest to your imagination.

Now I am locked in the garret, with only bread and water as means of survival. Papa came to visit me and scold my behavior, but, instead of bereavement, he gave me a hug and told me that I had done the right thing; a very odd means of punishment, or so I thought. As for Mama and Amelia, they are conspiring the means of my other punishments, which I am prepared to face with bravado.

Well, this has been a long letter. I expect an equally thick one in reply. You really must come back soon and visit me, Darcy. Mayhap then we can torment Amelia together. Send your father my regards. I will write him a letter concerning my studies tomorrow. My thanks are profuse for Mistress Price. It was very generous of him to take my education into consideration.

A Very Morose Pirate,

Blondebeard


	12. Mrs Bennet Does Some Meddling

Mrs. Bennet Does Some Meddling

Elizabeth was fishing trout-lines down at Browning Pond when Jane came flying down the lane, her usual neat appearance so disheveled as to lend her the look of a madwoman.

"Oh, Lizzy, Lizzy!" she cried, catching her breath and collapsing upon a well-worn river rock, "you shall never guess my news!"

Elizabeth laughed, "If it is not that Amelia has fallen madly in love and run off with some beggar-man, then I do not wish to hear it." Pulling at her fishing-lines, she neatly catapulted the left one farther out into the narrow strait.

"But, Lizzy, I thought at least you would have been excited?" Jane eyed her sister quizzically through a mantle of rich, golden curls that had cascaded from her usual, somber bun.

Elizabeth smiled wryly. "Why, has Amelia truly run off? This is celebratory news indeed!" She inclined the line further to the side, watching her sister mischievously through the corner of her eye.

Jane responded in a quiet and stern way. "Well, you are being quite insupportable today, Lizzy. And here I rushed all the way down here just to deliver a letter that had come earlier for you today." She gathered up her skirts and shook away the hay and mud that had resulted from her hasty run. "And you, the one to whom it was addressed."

"Alright, alright, dear, Jane. Settle back down on the rock and calm yourself. I did not intentionally mean to upset you." Another sarcastic grin resulted, though Jane ignored it as she positioned her flustered self sturdily upon the edge of the smooth, gray-stone rock.

"Now, tell me slowly, what is your gloriously wonderful news?" Lizzy smiled prettily at her sister and energetically cast her line out once again.

Jane straightened her skirts and smoothed her hair, as if she wanted to be presentable for the woodsy audience that surrounded her plump little shepherdess figure with its head of golden curls and dainty muddied pinafore. "This came post-haste for you not five minutes ago." She pulled a wrinkled piece of parchment from an oblong pocket and smoothed out its creases to read aloud to her sister:

_Dearest Pirate Blondebeard,_

_The moment the entire Darcy family party has long awaited has finally arrived after an entire year of anticipation, and, as my son is too excited to be able to take up pen and paper to write you, I have become the informant. _

_Today we leave London in pursuit of a golden summer in Hertfordshire, and, most esteemed of pirates, that summer would not be half so enjoyable if we had not the pleasure of receiving you at an impromptu dinner upon our arrival (be wary, my dear, Netherfield will not be equipped with the luxury so necessary to a pirate's palette, so you must bear in mind that we shall be dining under much less esteemed circumstances, due to the unfortunate unpacking that lies before us.) Our arrival time is unknown, though we hope it to be some time before 7 o'clock in the evening. But, naturally, the servants have already gone ahead and will happily receive you at whatever time you decide to grace Netherfield Hall with your presence. _

_Dearest of all pirates, I remain your servant,_

_You Humblest of Humble Hostages,_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy_

_(Your Uncle Willy-Ben)_

"Well, is that not quite interesting," replied Elizabeth matter-of-factly, "though hardly unexpected. Of course, I, the most feared and terrible pirate in all of Hertfordshire, should promptly be invited to a dinner with the Darcys'."

"Is that what you make of it?" inquired Jane, extending the letter to Elizabeth, who, keeping one steady hand upon the fishing rod, elegantly received and pocketed it. "I thought at least you would show some minor enthusiasm."

Lizzy was benign. "Of course I am happy over the invitation, but, as I said before, it comes as no surprise. Darcy wrote me earlier this month initiating the dinner plan. It was a clandestine deal and now, I presume, Mama has gotten hold of the information?"

"Oh, dearest Lizzy, do forgive me," replied Jane, her face draining of color, "for it was I who committed the heinous indiscretion of handing her the letter. She was in the garden at the time, and I could have avoided ever giving it too her, but I was careless enough not to read the name and address marked. If I had only known then I should have never handed it too her. Both she and Amelia are up at the house nearly in fits over what to wear."

"She and Amelia are not invited," replied Elizabeth casually, frowning slightly as a gust of wind caught her line on a particularly jagged rock, "and I do not blame you at all. Of course you are not of the disposition that reads _private _mail." Another gust of wind upset her line and, with a dramatic sigh, she pulled up her mud boots-recently borrowed from the stableboy-and trooped out in the shallow waters to retrieve it.

"Oh, Lizzy, _do_ be careful!" Jane called after her retreating back. Lizzy turned back and waved aside her fears away carelessly, edging to the center of the pond and following her line too its unfortunate snag. Retrieving a pair of small-bladed scissors, she repaired her minute problem before retreating back to her former position along the sweet-grass of the lower bank.

"So you are not angry at me?" inquired Jane quietly, casting her eyes demurely down to the tips of her shoes and blushing a deep crimson color. "I ought to have been more perspective and taken the urgency and timing of the letter into consideration. Mother _never _receives important letters all of the way from London, unless it is from Uncle Gardiner or a distant relation."

Elizabeth laughed. "Me? Angry at you? Dearest of Janes, the idea is absolutely preposterous." With a whistle and a quick dive, Lizzy refurbished her line and continued her excellent mood, whistling cheerfully as the wind retreated and fair weather once again became regent over the lackadaisically sunny morning.

"And what of Mama and Amelia?"

Another spurt of laughter erupted from Elizabeth's lips, common when she was in a good mood. "As I said before, Mama and Amelia are not pirates and, therefore, do not have the honor of accompanying me to dine with my fellow comrades."

"And how will you be rid of them?" Jane looked rather fretful, her hazel eyes and little upturned nose casting her face in a look of maidenish bewilderment. "You had better not dispose of their company by any untoward means."

"Oh, Jane, dear, do you really think that I would toss them in Browning Pond?" inquired Lizzy with a grin, "although, considering the circumstances, that is readily becoming an alternative."

Jane exclaimed harshly at that statement, muttering against Lizzy's oddities, and begging her to refrain from sarcasm. "Really, Elizabeth, you ought to have some degree of seriousness .Do not jest with me. You know as well as I do that Amelia and Mama will stop at nothing to dine with the Darcys'. Already Mama has ordered the carriage to travel in, and Betsy and Rose are nearly flying about the house in search of an assortment of fine visiting clothes."

"Well," replied Elizabeth with relative ease, reeling in her pole and sighing as she found no bites, "I suppose that we must come up with an excellent plan to thwart their intentions." She smiled, casting her line out and beckoning Jane to come closer.

"And I think I have just the _perfect_ solution."

"Oh, hurry Amelia!" called Mrs. Bennet, dangling precariously from the second-floor banister as she called downwards towards the room in which Amelia had domineered from Elizabeth, "you must hurry before Lizzy returns from fishing. Then we can leave without her and come up with a plausible excuse to explain her absence."

A peal of girlish laughter erupted as dainty Amelia, bedecked from head to foot in a new French concoction straight from Paris, clambered from the room and into the hallway vestibule. "Am I not an _absolute_ dream in this, Aunt Fanny?" she inquired with a delicate sniff and twirl, holding her head at a decidedly fashionable angle. "Is this not the epitome of what they are currently wearing in London?"

"My dear you look _simply_ ravishing," called Mrs. Bennet, hurrying down the stairs as quickly as her pudgy legs would carry her, "I have never seen such a beautiful cherub of a child before, not in all of my years."

Mr. Bennet, exiting from his study, gave a dry laugh. "You call that ravishing?" he inquired, hurrying down the middle vestibule towards the safety of the lower kitchens, "I say Amelia looks like a living, breathing powder puff." Another spurt of laughter and he had disappeared down the back stairwell, his footsteps echoing loudly as Mrs. Bennet fumed angrily on the grand oriental rug that marked the front entrance.

"Never you mind _him_," she sniffed impertinently, blowing a kiss and Amelia, who primped at her hair and sighed at her reflection in the golden mirror that hung above a mahogany end-table. "His greatest pleasure in life is taunting my _poor _nerves. You look marvelous, darling. Now where is that dratted servant?" She raised a diamond-drenched silk glove to her mouth, "Hill! Hill!" Shrilly sounded her voice, shaking the four corners of Longbourne and causing a distressed matronly housekeeper to come flying down the hall, skirts flying out behind her as she scurried to a halt in front of her mistress.

"Oh, dear, Mrs. Bennet," she bobbed a curtsey, "what ever is the matter?"

Mrs. Bennet presided regally over the frightened housekeeper, who was still gasping to regain her breath from her short run. "Is the carriage prepared?"

"Yes, ma'am, I believe so," replied Hill obediently.

"And where is Jane? She is too come along as well."

"She is coming down in a few moments, madam. I believe that she has been searching for Miss. Elizabeth."

Mrs. Bennet inhaled sharply. "Elizabeth is not to be informed that we are leaving. When she returns from her fishing expedition, she is to be detained and not allowed to leave the confines of this house." Her nostrils flared outwards. "Am I clearly understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hill wore a look of bewilderment, though, lowering her eyes, she dared not question her mistress's authority.

Mrs. Bennet looked around once again, her eyes taking in the full length of the lighted vestibule. "Alright, then, Hill. Go and tell Harrison to saddle the horses. We leave at once."

A darkened carriage pulled up directly in front of the warmly lit Longbourne entrance hall. Horse hooves coming to an abrupt clatter, the driver promptly hopped down to assist his master in ascending the carriage steps.

"Thank you, Donovan," the cloaked figure said cheerfully, patting the faithful stablehand on the back, "drive the coach around back and put it well within concealment from any passers-by."

"Very good, sir," replied Donovan, touching his cap and waiting patiently as three more figures alighted.

The door to Longbourne flew open and a girlish figure stood silhouetted in the light. "Darcy!" she called enthusiastically, skipping down the front steps and landing at an abrupt halt in front of the mysterious party. "And UncleWilly-Ben (as was her affectionate name for the elder Darcy), and Bingley, and Wickham!" She scurried out and was promptly enveloped in an energetic hug from the tall, stooping gentleman, then accosted by the three boyish figures.  
"Elizabeth!" cried Darcy, muffled as he swooped her up in a bear-hug, "I thought I'd never get to see you again! It's been an entire year!"

Lizzy laughed carelessly. "Not that long, not that long at all. And I wrote to you every week faithfully, just like I promised." A wide grin and she had squirmed out of Darcy's long embrace. With a lazy smile, she half-greeted Wickham before being lightly pecked on the cheek by a blushing Bingley.

Mr. Bennet, followed by an entourage of his younger daughters, stepped along after Elizabeth's trail, his dancing blue eyes wrinkled in pleasure. "Darcy," he said, extending a hand and firmly shaking that of his friend, "nice to see you again. Obliviously Elizabeth is ecstatic at such a reunion." He winked slightly, his brow wrinkled in a perpetual fashion. "Unfortunately, my wife has prior dinner engagements."

The entire party howled at this statement, perhaps Elizabeth the loudest.

"What a good joke," she said merrily, "that we have gone and tricked Mama into going to Netherfield, whilst we all enjoy a good, long supper here at Longbourne."

Darcy formed a wicked grin. "Good joke indeed! The servants thought you'd gone mad this morning when you came in such a rush to inform them of the sudden dining changes."

"We left as quickly as possible," replied Mr. Darcy with a teasing smile, "with instructions given to the servants to entertain our _unexpected _guests and treat them royally for as long a span as the evening as possibly can be mustered without their dinner hosts."

"Pity they had to travel all that distance when the real party shall be here," replied Mr. Bennet with yet another wry smile, "for Lizzy here has gone and outwitted the lot of them." He ruffled his daughter's hair with affection, picking up a squawking Lydia and lifting her onto his shoulders.

"We shall all eat as pirates, with no manners," Lizzy informed the group, leading the way into the inviting hallway. "And we shall talk all evening of plans for the summer and what we accomplished whilst we were out of each other's company."

And so the entire cheerful party agreed most heartily to act as the complete and total barbarians that society so frowns upon. They alighted into the dining hall in high spirits, as a bemused Mrs. Bennet, Amelia, and reluctant Jane were seated at the long, grand Darcy dining table with little but a roaring fire in the grate and obliging servants to keep them company.

What an ironic situation indeed.


	13. Oh! The Crime of Holding Hands

_Oh! The Crime of Holding Hands_

Little known to Mrs. Bennet the goings on of her husband and younger daughters; by the time she finally quit Netherfield Hall, she was in such an uproar of anger and impatience that absolutely confusion came into rein when she stepped through the threshold of her most esteemed and humble abode.

"Where is Mr. Bennet?" her tone was so completely demanding and uncivilized that it caught poor, timid Hill-recently refreshed from her earlier duties of preparing the toilets of that noble lady-quite off guard. "I wish to speak to my husband directly he comes."

Hill disentangled her mistresses' bonnet strings and politely removed the heavy shawl and pelisse. "He is in the study, Madam, attending to the accounts and having his usual after-dinner brandy."

" Well, I must speak with him, for he will never guess! Those Darcys' are quite inhospitable! If ever I have seen such alarming treatment of a guest; I most sincerely am acutely embarrassed upon the part of the Darcys'! Such treatment! Such, such injustice! Why, as I speak, poor Amelia is in positive tears over the disappointment!"

Hill looked unable to comprehend the struggles of the overwrought and nervous lady. With a small, frightened sigh, she replied, "Dear Mrs. Bennet, I am sure there must have been some form of misunderstanding." A creature of secrecy, she was unwilling to betray Elizabeth's confidences over the private dinner party conducted that evening at Longbourne. "Do not distress yourself. I shall go and fetch you some tea in the parlor."

"No, that will not do," replied Mrs. Bennet, who was not comforted in the slightest, "take it to the library. I shall consult with Mr. Bennet directly." With a huff and a determined expression, she took off to the room so often barricaded against her entrance. Knocking boldly, she allowed herself inside to find her husband downing the very last of his brandy.

"Mr. Bennet," she exhaled sharply, "have you an ear to hear of the injustices committed against your wife, daughter, and niece this evening?" Uninvited, she situated herself upon the armchair opposite that of her husband's desk.

He smiled sarcastically. "I suppose I have little choice in the matter, Mrs. Bennet. You will tell me anyway, despite my objections." Putting aside his glasses, he neatly closed the heavy account book and reclined in his chair studiously.

Mrs. Bennet took this as invitation enough. "You will never guess the manner in which we were so abjectly ignored! For, after arriving at Netherfield Hall, we found only servants to keep us company during the supper hours, with no sign of Mr. Darcy or his son!"

"Grievous indeed, Mrs. Bennet," replied her husband dryly, "I pity you most abjectly."

Mrs. Bennet was not to be so easily brushed the wayside. "The dinner was good, but there was no conversation! And though Hill reassures me there must have been some misunderstanding, I am sure they are just being rude!"

"And what am I to do about the affair? Challenge Darcy to a duel simply on my wife's whim?"

"Oh! No! Mr. Bennet, no!" cried the lady in a shocked fashion, oblivious to the undertow of sarcasm. "Do no go and get yourself killed. I do not want to be on hostile terms with the Darcys' at all! But, oh! After such humiliation, what could such be easily avoided?"

"I leave the formalities entirely up to you, my dear," he said with a half-sigh.

Mrs. Bennet looked entirely apprehensive. "Should I address him in letter? Berate him personally? Shall you allow him to ever again grace our home with his presence? I cannot simply cause a rift between our families on the most trivial of occasions." Here Mrs. Bennet was logically considering that such a breach would taint her daughter's chances of an excellent marriage.

"No, indeed, Madam. I would hate to see our daughter's chances of matrimony severely diminished because you have been snubbed by the Darcys'." He chuckled complacently, turning to a folded newspaper and undoing the creases.

A quick knock at the library door signaled the arrival of Hill with Mrs. Bennet's rejuvenating tea. She also hailed a message. "Just delivered, ma'am," she told her mistress, bobbing a curtsey and waiting patiently for the revival of the teacup.

"Ah, surely this will be good news!" cried Mrs. Bennet nervously, tearing at the wax seal and rapidly unfolding the letter's creases. "Oh! It is from Mr. Darcy," she said, scanning the contents, "Mr. Bennet, we are not ruined after all! Dear man, he has sent a most becoming apology!"

"Fancy that," replied Mr. Bennet, with a secret smile, listening as his wife read aloud:

_My dear Mrs. Bennet,_

_After being informed by my servants of your arrival at Netherfield Hall this evening only to find no host, I was most acutely embarrassed. You see, my dear lady, our carriage was delayed by bad weather, leading to a late arrival and cold supper. I only hope that you can accept my greatest regrets and embarrassment at my absence, hope that you were treated with the utmost of hospitality, and send my most esteemed of compliments for yourself and your family. I sincerely believe that we will overcome and mend this breach of communication to rise above and entertain ourselves with the possible idea of a future dinner party? I could only hope so much. My dear Mrs. Bennet, I remain_

_You Humble Servant,_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy_

"Oh, what an elegant hand! What a lovely apology!" Mrs. Bennet was ecstatic as she thrust the letter into the hands of her husband. "What a kind and thoughtful gesture; and so late in the evening to! He must have been genuinely sorry for his actions and misconduct."

"I daresay he had previous engagements anyway, Mrs. Bennet," replied her husband, "and, seeing as though you were not invited to Netherfield in the first place, I do not think that you even merited such an eloquent response of affection." His eyes twinkled merrily behind their lenses.

Ignoring him, she said, "And now, everything righted between ourselves and our dearest of friends."

"Only last summer's acquaintance and already they are our dearest of friends," Mr. Bennet was diverted, "if only I could forge friendships so quickly."

"You can do nothing to upset me now, Mr. Bennet," Mrs. Bennet, comforted to an immense degree, now prepared to take flight from the room she most detested. "I am so filled with jubilance and joy that not even your comments can affect me."

"That I am sorry to here," remarked Mr. Bennet gravely, "I hope that in the morning your spirits will be less so.

Again Mrs. Bennet was not moved. Standing up from her chair and indifferently handing the empty teacup to Hill, she coldly acknowledged her husband before retaking her letter of triumph and exiting the room to find and console her dearest niece.

Meanwhile, in the library, Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth, who had been unknown to her mother, reading quietly on the enormous sofa before the fire, burst into fits of laughter so loud that the rafters of their home shook, and it resounded all the way to Netherfield Hall, where Mr. Darcy and his company were smiling over their successes.

* * *

"Thank you for being so agreeable, Jane," Elizabeth informed her sister as they walked to market the next morning, "for I did not want to send you along with Mama and Amelia, but it was necessary."

Jane blushed. "It is alright, Lizzy. I understand your reasons. It is not as if I have anyone in particular that I should wish to meet from the Netherfield party anyway." Again a heavy blush as Elizabeth burst into peals of laughter.

"No one, indeed, Jane? Last summer you did not seem so indifferent to a certain Charles Bingley." Her eyebrows raised slightly, she ignited Jane's rarely seen playful side, as she ducked to avoid the wicker basket about to be brought down upon her curls.

"Dearest, Lizzy," said Jane, deciding not to abash her sister with the basket in question, "I fear that I am as red as a radish."

"More like a turnip actually," replied Elizabeth with another laugh. "You look quite comical, Jane, dear, like Bertha after she has had too much beer."

Jane looked quite astonished. "Lizzy!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, do not play coy and pretend you don't know that people get drunk, Jane. It is an unavoidable fact that will plague us all to the realms of adulthood." At nine-years old, the little intellect had an unusual interest in the goings on around her.

"I certainly know that people get drunk, but it is not something to go around proclaiming."

Lizzy laughed. "I am not proclaiming it to anyone. Just you, and you are my sister. And besides, I shall never get drunk and so there is no harm in talking about it. At least that is what Darcy told me."

Now it was Jane's turn to look sly. "There is Darcy again. You bring up his name constantly when you talk with me. I should begin to expect that you are attached to him."

"Darcy and myself?" Elizabeth was mirthful indeed; she slipped her thin arm through Jane's and allowed tears to run down her face, so hard was her laughter. Partially recovering she retorted with, "I believe you are as bad a matchmaker as you are a liar." Another peal of laughter reduced her to a momentary pause and she incurred Jane's concern until at last she became silent.

"I did not mean to make you laugh so hard, Elizabeth Bennet," remarked her sister, reclaiming her basket and setting back along down the road, "I do not understand how such an idea could be so humorous to you."

Lizzy waved aside her sister's questions. "Oh, Darcy and I are just excellent friends. The fact that we do everything together and I bring up his name so constantly are only just because of that. He is no different from Elton and John, except for the fact that he is much more clever."

Jane unconsciously blushed and Elizabeth turned to interrogate her. "What is it of Bingley that you like so well? It seems that the two of you have also become inseparable?"

"He is kind to me and listens to all I say," replied Jane hesitantly, "I feel safe and secure around him. He is attentive to my every need. And his good humor and satisfaction with life I find to be enthralling and inspiring. He is everything good and noble."

"As are you. But keep in mind, Jane, dearest, you are only ten."

Another blush and Jane stopped to face her sister. "Lizzy, I must confide in you. It is very urgent that I do." She downcast her eyes and allowed the mantle of curls to partially conceal her crimson face. "Last summer, I, well, I…"

"Spit it out, Jane," Elizabeth was insistent, "dear me, I am absolutely in suspense? Did you incur Lady Catherine's wrath or set fire to the chicken coop?"

"No," Jane was now so red it appeared as though she was a living, breathing tomato. "Oh, Lizzy, last summer I allowed Charles Bingley to hold my hand!"

A momentary lapse of silence was shattered by yet another round of Lizzy's laughter. Gasping, she doubled over and dropped her own basket upon the dirt path. "Oh, Jane! Jane, you silly goose!"

Jane became immensely mortified. "Oh, Lizzy! Do you truly think I am a terribly wretched girl?"

"No! Jane! Of course not!" replied Lizzy, between burst of giggles. "My goodness, you make it sound as though you murdered someone! Why, whatever is wrong with holding someone's hand? What is next? The inextricable bonds of matrimony?" More laughter and, gradually, Jane joined in.

"Oh, but I am a silly goose!" she cried, balancing a near-hysterical Elizabeth upon her shoulder. "A truly stupid, silly goose!"

"Oh, but if you were not so beautiful I would truly think you a simpleton." Elizabeth's voice was teasing and playful. "You and Charles the Cheerful, committing the heinous crime of holding hands! What next? Shall Amelia walk in mud puddles?"

"Dear, Lizzy. You make me sound so foolish. I should never have told you. I knew you should laugh."

"Oh, dearest of Janes. Of course I laugh. Is it not fun, to laugh at oneself? To laugh at the odd peculiarities of common goings on? Oh! Is it not fun to laugh at oneself?"

"I must admit it is rather enlightening," conceded the child, "though, frankly, I am entirely mortified at my confession."

"Confession indeed! If only all of England could be as good as you then we would have no wars to wage or criminals to jail. Dearest, dearest, Jane! I shall laugh at your expense no longer." And so Elizabeth did stop, her laughter ebbing away quickly until at last there was nothing but the chirping of birds overhead and the sound of farmers in their fields.

"I should never have told Mama, for she would have become entirely overexcited and begun preparations for my marriage, Papa should laugh as you do now, Mary would have stared at me in wide-eyed disbelief, and Kitty and Lydia should ask if he had kissed me."

"Oh, now that is something shocking!" replied Lizzy, who had halted now and surveyed her sister, "for it is disgraceful if he kissed you. He did not kiss you, did he?"

"Goodness no!" replied Jane with a faint blush, "I should never have allowed that. We only held hands for the tiniest sliver of time before Wickham discovered us in the glen. I was embarrassed enough then, for how he laughed and laughed at us. Charles threatened to fight with him, but I begged him not to. I fear I do not like Wickham."

"No, for I harbor no good feelings for him either. Darcy says he is conniving and villainous. While his smile may be disarming and manner all that it is good and decent, I fear that beneath his cavalier demeanor lurks a fox. He is planning something." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "And I shirk to think of what it is."

"Look," Jane shielded her eyes against the sunlight, "there is Amelia coming up the crest of the hill. Mama did say something about her meeting us to go and purchase some new silk ribbons. Let us stop and wait for her."

Elizabeth looked panic-stricken. "Not for all the pirate gold in the world will I wait for her. You may stay here and wave and smile, but I will run into market and hide in the bookseller's. She wouldn't dare step foot in there!"

Jane shrugged hesitantly. "Do as you wish, Lizzy. It would be impolite for me to abandon our cousin to the unknowns of the market. Run along to the bookshop and meet us at the milliner's in a quarter of an hour. That will a lot you enough time to find a good book and avoid the tedium of ribbon-shopping with Amelia."

"Dearest Jane, I love you beyond anything else in the world," said Elizabeth, hugging her sister with an affectionate squeeze. "Heaven help you with Amelia; I cannot stand to be within a half-mile's distance from her. Good-bye, Jane. If you require the aid of a pirate, just whistle!"

And she was off in a flurry of calico skirts, her brown braids waving in the wind.

* * *

Sorry this was a late update. Hope to write more soon.


	14. Lizzy in London?

Lizzy in London?

And so the summer months passed very rapidly, filled with mishaps and adventures; trials and triumphs; and, occasionally, even scholarly attributes. Indeed, it passed entirely _too_ quickly for some of the Netherfield and Longbourne inhabitants, for Darcy was as uneager to be parted from Elizabeth as she was to be parted from him.

And so, at the summer's accumulation, as the servant's began to prepare the Darcy's exit of Netherfield Hall, he took his complaint to his father.

As was customary, Mr. Darcy was seated at the handsome mahogany desk in the formidable study, pouring over some business papers through well-adjusted reading spectacles. He looked, perhaps, a little paler and weaker than usual, though, upon his son's entrance, he smiled brightly.

"Afternoon, Fitzwilliam," he said pleasantly, motioning towards the chair at his elbow, "what hails you to my little corner of the world?"

Darcy returned his smile, though his was wan and strained at the corners. "Oh, nothing of great importance, Father. Only to tell you Wickham has gotten into a bit of trouble with the cook, and Bingley cannot seem to find that novel he set such a store by."

Mr. Darcy removed his glasses and pushed the papers in a drawer. Drawing his fingers together studiously, he eyed his son in a peculiar fashion. "And is that all you've come to report to me? Eh, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy avoided his father's placid gaze, shifting uncomfortably in his armchair. "Well, I, well…perhaps I had a, a little request…"

"Hmm…what, may I ask, _is _that request?"

"I suppose that you might think me a bit of a fool for asking, but I've been thinking…"

"A dangerous activity for any young man of these times…"

"…and wondering…"

"Oh, dear, Fitzwilliam, will you turn into one of those poetry-writing, daydreaming nitwits?"

"…that perhaps, if you do not object, and, well, if Mr. Bennet does not object…"

"Whatever has Mr. Bennet to do with the matter?"

Darcy eyed his fingers and took a deep breath; his father waited in quiet patience, eyeing the grandfather clock at the corner with relative indifference.

"I was wondering, thinking, _hoping_ that, if it is as at all possible…"

"Anything is possible…"

"…well, I had hoped that Elizabeth might be able to accompany us to London this winter." There, Darcy smiled in triumph, he had said it. Though, most agitating, was the unbiased, blank expression on his father's face.

Indeed, for Mr. Darcy was showing no emotion, only staring stodgily off at the large painting that adorned the mantle-piece, crossing his arms over his chest, and reclining deeper into his large, rigid desk-chair. "Hmmm…" he appeared to be deep in thought.

"Oh, sir, but I _have _considered everything," continued Darcy, eager to prove his point, "and I think that it would not only be beneficial for us, but also for Elizabeth, because she could share a nurse and governess with Georgiana, and you always said she was very bright…would this not be a great opportunity for her?"

"I know you have good motives, boy. But is your request for Elizabeth's presence in London entirely of selfish nature?" Mr. Darcy spoke quietly, watching his son tentatively, as if unsure of his response.

Darcy himself seemed nervous as he replied, "Perhaps it _is_ selfish, Father, but I do get rather glum in London," and then, blushing under his father's scrutiny, "even with Bingley and Wickham around. I do not mean to," here his blush deepened, "_abuse_ them in any manner, but they do not equal Elizabeth Bennet's company."

"So," replied his father, "you prefer Lizzy's friendship to that of such _old_ and _dear _acquaintances?" Rather than seem disappointed, he seemed amused.

Darcy again broke the gaze of his father. "Yes," he mumbled, "I suppose I do."

"I think I understand." Mr. Darcy's smile was warm. "While you do enjoy the friendships of the afore mentioned boys, somehow, they do little to either intellectually stipulate your mind or offer conflict and interest to your, dare I say, rather bland daily routine." He continued to watch his son's reactions carefully. "But, somehow, in coming to Hertfordshire, you discovered the one person who could both equal you in brains and wits, as well as offer exciting diversion. You found the one person who could broaden your imagination and offer, what I think you always sincerely desired, a little bit of everyday mischief?" He smiled again as his son nodded indistinctly. "And, of all things, this thrilling new person happened to be…a _girl_."

A short nod, and Mr. Darcy continued.

"My dear boy, I must admit I value Elizabeth's company as much as you do, but not only would it be near difficult to bring Lizzy to London, it would also highly be against propriety's standards." He watched the crestfallen expression on his son's face with a small amount of pity. "I know you shall miss her, my boy, but, consider, do you truly think Mr. Bennet would, for one moment, even think to release himself of his favorite child?"

Darcy shook his head slowly, maintaining a steady gaze on the tips of his fingers. "No, sir. I did not think of that."

His father brushed aside a stack of papers. "_However_," he said suddenly, making Darcy's ears pop up expectantly, "that does not overrule the fact that there _may _be a very _slight _chance we could procure her company…" he trailed off, watching as his son enthusiastically enquired after his solution. "That is," he continued on, "that Elizabeth return with us to London as a companion to your cousin, Anne de Bourg."

Darcy sucked in air quickly, his hopes dashed. "Aunt Catherine would never allow it," he mumbled quietly, staring disappointedly at the palms of his hands.

"Never allow it? Tsk..tsk.., lad. Is that how easily you give up?" Mr. Darcy curled up reflectively in his leather-backed armchair.

"Surely that is not the only alternative?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. "I am afraid so, my boy. The only one propriety would deem appropriate."

"Lady Catherine would never agree…"

"You would be surprised."

"Elizabeth would never agree…"

"Perhaps she would…"

They both lapsed into silence.

After a few moments spent in this fashion, Mr. Darcy abruptly began: "I know that you whole-heartedly desire Elizabeth's company, my boy. And that is exactly why I will go to whatever lengths to secure her presence."

The smile that broadened the features of his son was without description.

"No promises will I make, though," he added, quite rapidly,"your aunt is as strong-willed and stubborn as a three-legged mule, and Mr. Bennet can be quite possessive about those he loves most. I wouldn't wish you to get your hopes up."

"I shouldn't dare do that."

Mr. Darcy smiled kindly, watching the jubilant expression spread across his son's face, and relaxing. "Does an old fellow some good to watch the ever-bustling activity of the youth. I am glad to see you so excited."

"I have never been this excited about London before."

"No, no, I daresay you haven't."

Darcy shifted uneasily in his chair. "I do not think Lizzy will like it tremendously, though. She so much enjoys the countryside that I do believe she will detest the smoke and fog of the city."  
"Knowing our own dear Elizabeth, I should think the activity would suit her."

"I will be glad to show her everything."

"Indeed, I know you shall."

"Thank you, Father."

"Naturally."


	15. London Bridge is Falling Down

_This is a very short chapter, not particularly well written, but I had to offer something when I announced the continuation on this story. I do not believe I have posted since the beginning of the year, and, as I always did enjoy writing this story, I took a wild notion to finish it. If my schedule remains routine and all else goes well, it will hopefully be continued with regular updates. Any questions or comments, feel free to review. I need all the help and support I can get!_

_Thank you very much, to all who have put up with my long estrangement. I am very thankful, and I do hope you enjoy!_

_As for that common question: when will they grow up? I assure you, it will happen. Eventually._

_Susan_

**Childhood Impressions**

_London Bridge is Falling Down_

By miracle, or sheer force of Mr. Darcy's persuasive abilities, Lady Catherine was at last reconciled to sharing a townhouse with "that **_Bennet_** girl", as she was wont to refer to her. However, this momentous decision did not come without strings attached; her ladyship was quite adamant that the girl behave with decorum and propriety at all times, an idea so unfeasible to Mr. Darcy and his son that they laughed heartily after the good lady's departure.

Mr. Bennet, however, was a different matter. He expressed enormous concern over parting with his favorite. After all, Elizabeth was really his only means of sanity and intellectual stimulation at Longborne save his library. It would be terrible on all accounts to even imagine parting with her. The realization of benefits, though, was enticing; he could not ignore the countless opportunities that awaited his daughter-opportunities that she would neverreceive at Longbourne. He could not ignore the enormity of the situation, or the extensive educational resources Mr. Darcy had at his disposal. Lizzy would have the very best of tutors and instructors in London; he was convinced of the fact. It would be unthinkably selfish to deprive her of a steady education due to fatherly inclination, and he would never be able to forgive himself. Therefore, after days of deliberation, he finally consented, to the delight of the Darcys' and the chagrin of his wife, who, though happy to be rid of her wayward daughter's pranks and oddities, believed Jane or Amelia inordinately more suitable and deserving companions.

Lizzy herself faced the decision with mixed feeling. She had always desperately wanted to go to London; enough visits with her Aunt Gardiner had assured her of the excitement and eccentricity the city offered. And the people! Such a diverse mix, surely. She would have no want of amusing pursuits to keep her occupied, and what a good many pranks would present themselves! The very idea was congenial. However, she would have to leave Rosie and Betsy and Mr. Bennet and Jane. She would have to forgo fishing trips to Browning Pond and pirate raids upon Bertha. And no gingerbread or raspberry tarts from Martha! It was a sobering prospect and a bittersweet one at that. However, Darcy was quite devoted to her going, and, as Mr. Darcy had given a particularly emphatic speech, Lizzy found there was no other alternative save to accept, which she did with as much dignity and grace as she could muster. She would _not_, however, retire any of her ruffian ways and found herself as determined as ever to maintain that state of perpetual mischief that always accompanied her. Proper or not, Elizabeth Bennet was first and foremost a pirate.

As for Amelia, she cried herself sick the first instant she heard of her cousin's popularity. To have such a ruffian so honored when she herself was a model of femininity and charm! It was insupportable to the last degree. She found a ready listener in Mrs. Bennet, who was quite determined to put her foot down to any happiness her daughter might experience. However, Mr. Bennet on this point was determined, and there was little his wife could do to deter him.

Thus, with some degree of ease, the matter was settled. Miss. Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourne in Hertfordshire was to become an inhabitant of London.

"I have never seen anything like it!" Elizabeth exclaimed. She was situated in the Darcy carriage, her nose pressed upon the carriage window-pane, her breath forming crystals upon the glass. "The smoke and the fog and the rain! It looks like a picture from a horror-story!" They were traveling through London, after a rather uneventful journey through the countryside. It was a gloomy, dismal afternoon; quite chilly and damp.

Mr. Darcy laughed. "I told you not to be too excited, Lizzy. There is nothing storybook about London. It is even worse that you should have to see it in this weather." He frowned slightly.

Elizabeth relaxed and returned to her seat. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Betsy tells me that constantly, though I do not often regard her lectures." She wrinkled her nose. "I do hope we shall have some warm supper though. I'm fiercely hungry."

"Me too," agreed Darcy, shaking a snoring Wickham from his slumber. "We haven't had a thing since breakfast this morning. A dreadful shame!"

"Indeed. I should hate to deprive you children of some nourishment. Hopefully Cook will have something delicious when we arrive." Mr. Darcy smiled complacently. "Some treacle tart would do me nicely in this weather!"

"Treacle tart and apple butter!" exclaimed Elizabeth, with aplomb, "what a glorious feast we shall have!" She laughed. "However, if your Cook has not prepared us a bite to eat, we can always raid Lady Catherine's secret chocolate supply!"

"Chocolate supply?" inquired Mr. Darcy and his son at once.

Lizzy grinned. "I shan't tell you where I discovered it, for it is for me and me alone, but it was last summer when I saw her eating it in excess. I followed her upstairs and saw where she kept it; it was not a very winning hiding place at all. A dreadful shame, really. She should have kept it in a locked treasure chest!"

"You are bad, Lizzy," Darcy informed her, though he could hardly suppress a smile. "Terrible, in fact."

"Indeed, quite terrible," agreed his father, eyes twinkling.

"But I am interesting, at least!" contradicted Lizzy with spirit, "not some shriveled old prune with nothing but insipid conversation and no gumption!"

On that point, no one could argue.

I WILL update. Hopefully soon. I am quite determined to finish this story, after all. Please review and offer helpful suggestions. Longer chapters later!

Coming up: Elizabeth and the Earl and Walking on Eggshells


	16. Peculiar Behavior

I know-two months is a ridiculously inexcusible amount of time to not write a chapter. And especially after promising to post soon! I am so sorry! With Christmas holidays approaching, I hope to do better! I do have plenty of interesting ideas cooked up for Lizzy's adventures in London!

Thanks for your patience! Without further ado...

**Chapter 16**

_Peculiar Behavior_

Elizabeth's first week in London was a flurry of activity. There was such a tremendous amount of unpacking to be done! To further worsen matters, Letty, the maid, was an incompetent mess, and Lizzy had to supervise the entire operation of housing her precious possessions, in order to maintain that nothing was either broken or harmed.

There were three wooden crates of her particularly prized articles, all wrapped carefully in old newspapers and straw; an ensemble of her favorite books-which she never traveled without-two particularly interesting bird feathers from her collection, a map of the world, her treasured Blondebeard manuscripts-carefully rewritten in order to be presented to Darcy for inspection-two of her favorite quills and an ancient ink pot, sketches she had drawn of all the Longbourn household, a letter from her father, and two loaves of blueberry bread-which had been baked with a great deal of love the day prior to her departure.

She had been placed in a large, airy room adjacent the nursery; so large, indeed, that even Lizzy was astonished upon seeing it.

"Even Napoleon hasn't a room this grand," she informed Letty, upon first viewing her new quarters, "and he is emperor of France, which should grant him some precedence." At which Letty merely bobbed a clumsy curtsy, nodded shortly, and wondered inwardly at the peculiarity of her new mistress.

Closer scrutiny of the room was required, naturally. The mattress had to be jumped upon, to ensure comfort. A pillow fight had to be initiated to determine the authenticity of the feathers. And a very reluctant Wickham had been forced-by the order of Lizzy, who had been portraying Attila the Hun that particular afternoon and had no patience for cowards-to go in search of rats. However, none were found, and Elizabeth was heartily disappointed. Her plans of training them and setting them to wreck havoc upon Lady Catherine dissipated, but, as there were plenty of rats in London, she did not give up hope altogether.

Gradually, the last of Lizzy's crates were unpacked and a routine was established at the Darcy townhouse. Mornings were spent in breakfast and long walks at the nearby park. In the afternoon, books were read and debates begun, sometimes lasting until supper, when they were usually resolved. Lizzy, eager to familiarize herself with every inch of the grand home, explored every room, slid down every banister, and conversed with every servant who would lend her an ear. She teased the footmen, confused the maids, and played pranks upon the butler, a rather stern, severe man who never smiled and always had a stern word for the unrepentant troublemaker.

Though lessons were not set to begin until the next week, Lizzy and Darcy had already familiarized themselves with the large library and nursery schoolroom. They had begun drilling themselves in Latin terms, matching wit for wit as they competed for dominance in the classroom. Evenings were spent immersed themselves in philosophy and politics, much to the delight of Mr. Darcy, who enjoyed watching the enthusiasm and intelligence of the young and often induced these long-winded conversations. Bingley and Wickham-though bright, affable young men-lacked the brilliance of their friends and so acted merely as counterparts and assistants.

Everything was running capitally, until the arrival of a certain Lady Catherine de Bourg from Hunsrod.

Her entrance into the household was hardly greeted with enthusiasm. She was a troublesome creature, who immediately set about to totalitarian control. She seized control over household affairs, and the cozy and informal state that had blanketed the townhouse the majority of the week instantly disappeared. The servants, even the austere butler, were terribly frightened of her. Elizabeth had quite a time restraining laughter when she saw the noble parsonage upon the stair, elaborately gowned in feathers and pearls, barking orders at terrified servants.

Furthermore, her adamant demands that Elizabeth Bennet make her an apology increased daily, much to Lizzy's amusement, as she had no intentions of complying with them. Determined to be a cantankerous old 'prune'-one of the several nicknames Lizzy had bestowed upon her-Lady Catherine was the epitome of a terrible houseguest.

Despite these deformities, however, she has not immediately plagued by Elizabeth's pranks, much to the surprise of the entire household. As a matter of fact, Lizzy had been remarkably docile since the arrival of her arch-enemy, and, though hardly behaved with civility, had, at least, refrained from outright warfare. Indeed, even Lady Catherine was astonished. By the looks of it, she had been preparing for the war-path, and this sudden indifference from the enemy was entirely unexpected.

Anne was hardly as problematic. Submissive and obedient, she did everything she was told and never offered argument. Elizabeth had attempted friendship, but found Anne's conversation so dull and insipid that she could hardly stay awake. And Anne did not appear to desire friendship with Lizzy in the slightest. Her mother formed Anne's opinions, and, as her mother detested Miss. Elizabeth Bennet, so then did Lady Anne de Bourg.

And so Lady Catherine and her daughter settled into ways at the Darcy's London townhouse with relative ease.

But something was amiss in the household, and tension could be felt by all…

* * *

"Elizabeth has something up her sleeve," announced Darcy one morning, at breakfast. They were quite alone, save Wickham and Bingley, as Mr. Darcy was away attending to business and Lady Catherine kept to her room, under the pretense that she was suffering from a headache. 

Wickham was quick to agree. "I am absolutely sure of it. We have been here an entire week without incident! The state of perpetual peace is quite unnerving!"

"Perhaps she is trying to reform," suggested Bingley, with a good-natured smile. "Not that she would need to," he quickly added, after considering the offensive nature of his comment.

Elizabeth did not look up from the book she had propped before her plate. "There is no use in speaking of me as if I am not present," she informed them acidly, "I am perfectly capable of reading _and _conversing. And, as for the accusations against me, I can promise you most heartily that _my _business is none of _your_ concern." She gave a sunny smile. "Now, Charles, pass me the toast."

It was an obvious indicator that she had no interest in canvassing the subject, but, as Darcy detested not playing a role in her schemes, he would not relent. "Come, Lizzy," he addressed her, in a coaxing manner, "shall you not tell us what you have planned?"

"Absolutely not," was the cool reply," and furthermore, I am mortified that you should think me up to something!"

The boys exchanged skeptical glances. "I do hope you are joking," Wickham said, uncertainly.

"Why should I joke?" Lizzy inquired, with a critical glance over the top of her volume.

He shrugged.  
Darcy, however, was prompt in his response. "I know you too well, Lizzy," he informed her, "to believe all this nonsense of your presumed innocence. I saw you yesterday afternoon mapping out the dimensions of the drawing room."

"It is perfectly normal," returned Lizzy stiffly, "to map out one's drawing room."

Again, Darcy raised his eyebrows skeptically. "May I inquire for what purpose?"

"Fire escape," was Elizabeth's prompt and orchestrated response. She returned to her book, avoiding his gaze.

"And shall you explain your odd behavior over this past week?" he continued.

She shrugged. "In what way has it been odd?"

Wickham gave a derisive snort, and was promptly elbowed by Darcy.

"Well?" she looked up expectantly. Her eyes, however, were dancing with suppressed laughter.

Bingley avoided her steady gaze and twisted his napkin around nervously. Wickham snorted into his eggs. Darcy, however, met her gaze. "You know exactly what I am implying. No use in pretense, Elizabeth Bennet. I demand to know what business you are about!"

She gave an impulsive smile. "That is for _me _to know and _you _to find out!"

"Ah! A confession!" exclaimed Wickham, jumping on her exclamation. "We have finally had a confession!"  
Elizabeth laughed. "A confession hardly implies guilt," she informed him.

"Are you determined to be so cryptic!" cried Darcy, rather frustrated. "Why are we not allowed to be privy to your plans?"

"You must stop attacking her so!" was Bingley's earnest plea.

"Attacking her?" was Wickham's exclamation.

"Hardly!" cried Darcy with zeal.

As the table erupted into chaos, Elizabeth remained perfectly calm, intently perusing her volume- hand supporting head and lips betraying the slightest hint of a smile. Whilst the boys argued in vain, Lizzy managed to maintain the cool and collected calm of a queen.

The chaos was interrupted by the arrival of a footman, who, rather unsure of himself in such a childish crowd, meekly handed the dispatch to Lizzy, who seemed the calmest member of the table.

Looking up from her book, she accepted the invitation with a warm smile before dismissing him. The note immediately caught her attention, and, snapping her book closed, she banged her spoon energetically upon her plate. "Come to order, you rag-tag ruffians!" She waved the note above her head. "Look what I have!"

They turned their attention abruptly towards her.

"Private mail!" she motioned exuberantly to her 'prize'.

Darcy could hardly contain a smile. "Who from?"  
"Well, open it!" exclaimed Wickham simultaneously.

Bingley, meanwhile, looked pensive. "I do not believe that would be entirely proper…"

However, Elizabeth, with a sparkle in her eye and expectant smile upon her lips, had already opened the letter. She did not read it aloud, though, in order to keep the other members of the table in some form of suspense.

"Come on, Lizzy!" Darcy cried in frustration.

"That is hardly fair!" Wickham argued plaintively.

"I do not believe this is entirely proper…"Bingley added, meekly.

Elizabeth, however, was not affected, and continued pursuing the contents of the letter in silence. The others could do little but watch hopefully for any chance facial expressions, but Elizabeth, well-schooled, maintained a placid, expressionless mien.

"This is most excellent news!" she declared, completing her letter and tucking in within her shoe, to avoid any unwarranted reading by other parties. "Excellent news, indeed!"

Darcy scowled. "You obviously enjoy keeping us in the dark, so I will not even bother as to inquire!"

"You are being ridiculously insubordinate!" Wickham informed her with a pinch.

"Do not injure her!" Bingley cried, attempting to maintain peace at the table.

Elizabeth merely grinned. "I suppose I have kept you in suspense long enough…"

"Indeed!" clamored Darcy and Wickham.

"And perhaps it would not be so very harmful to include you in my plans…"

"Indeed!" was the unanimous response.

"Well…" she looked to be relenting, "alright." Obviously this was the cream upon the cake. She looked extremely pleased with herself. "Gather round and I shall relate to you the nature of my…" she trailed off, before regaining speech, "plans."

Eager to be included, Darcy, Wickham, and even honest Bingley, crowded about her.

* * *

Cliffhanger! Anyway...suggestions and helpful hints are always welcome! I'd appreciate any ideas on what exactly Blondebeard should be up to in London! Thanks! 


	17. Tea with Two Dragons

_Sorry for the delay. Please don't be angry. I am in the process of writing the next chapter..._

_Hope everyone enjoys!_

* * *

Lady Honoria Wright was **_the _**most important woman in London society, save, perhaps, the queen. Not only was she a duchess-which lent considerable distinction in itself- she was also a cunning and shrewd individual with a flair for having her own way. The central authority upon every societal function, Lady Locksley had her finger in every pie in London, in a manner of speaking, and never shirked from wielding this power to her advantage.

There was not a soul in London who dared defy or insult her, for fear that she would bring shame and ruin upon their household. Or worse, exclude them from her will. Indeed, most of the gentility were quite frightened of falling from her good graces, for no one slandered the name of Lady Honoria Wright, Duchess of Locksley, without some form of terrible retribution. Rumors circulated that she was related distantly to Napoleon, and, even more outrageously, that she was a descendant of Attila the Hun.

There was only one woman in the entirety of London that had the gumption to stand against Lady Locksley, and that was a certain Lady Catherine de Bourg, eldest daughter of the Earl of Matlock. The two had been rivals for societal dominance from their cradles, and had conspired against one another since their earliest days at school. Only when Lady Honoria had made the advantageous match to the Duke of Locksley did she truly gain supremacy-at least in the official sense. Lady Catherine had had to content herself with a wealthy baronet, who had died soon after their marriage, leaving her a large fortune and a sickly child. It was hardly fair, and Lady Catherine had nursed a longstanding grudge against her enemy-whom she blamed as the cause of the entire wretched state of affairs, however groundless an accusation it might have been.

However, Lady Catherine was still forced, by the standards of propriety, to extend Lady Locksley an invitation to tea every time the de Bourg party reentered the London neighborhood. It was hardly an event she looked forward to throughout the year, but was _necessary_ to maintain some form of civility between the warring parties. In Lady Catherine's opinion, it was similar to having a tooth pulled, necessary but hardly enjoyable.

As the invitation was more of a formality than a token of friendship, so too was afternoon tea more a matter of pomp and grandeur than cozy 'catching up'. Lady Catherine was set upon displaying the grandeur of her townhome, to overwhelm Lady Locksley with the splendors of her wealth. So began a tireless crusade of tidying the house, brining forth the best china, and generally attempting to make Lady Locksley positively envious of the splendid wealth of the honorable Darcy and de Bourg family.

When at last the day arrived, Lady Catherine felt she was quite prepared. There remained only one problem standing in her way...

That **_Bennet _**girl.

* * *

Lizzy smiled brightly. She could not help smiling. It was, after all, a beautiful day.

"Stop smiling," Darcy hissed. He was standing beside her in the foyer. They were about to be inspected by Lady Catherine, then bundled off with the nanny to go and play in the park. This was Lady Catherine's less than creative method of disposing of "that _Bennet_ girl". She did not want Lizzy anywhere **_near _**Lady Locksley and her daughters when they arrived for afternoon tea. "It looks too suspicious."

Elizabeth regarded him curiously. "I am free to do as I choose," she replied, "and so, I smile."

"Remind me what we are supposed to do again?" Wickham asked. "I have quite forgotten."  
Lizzy sighed. "What a terrible soldier you would make, Wickham! Never able to remember orders. Unless, of course, you conveniently forgot?" she arched one eyebrow expectantly. Wickham gulped slightly. He did not repeat his inquiry again. Beside him, Bingley shifted nervously.

"Something tells me that this is not exactly…"he trailed off, after meeting Lizzy's eyes. She grinned triumphantly and exchanged a smile with Darcy. He could not help it. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

Lady Catherine descended the stairs, gowned elaborately in silk and feathers. She eyed Elizabeth suspiciously as the approached the landing, obviously bewildered at her decided display of cheerfulness. Eyes narrowing, she stopped directly before the girl.

"May I inquire as to why you are smiling so broadly?"

"If I remember correctly," replied Lizzy pertly, "smiling is a form of expression. And expression is necessary to keep a person from turning into a lifeless piece of wood." She broadened her smile.

Lady Catherine surveyed her with a haughty glare, but did not allow herself to reply. With a cold toss of her head, she addressed herself to Nanny Craig. "Do not let **_her_** out of your sight!" With yet another acid glance towards Lizzy, the grand lady swept down the hallway towards the drawing room, to await the arrival of the duchess.

Nanny Craig looked rather taken aback.

With a stern cluck, she took Lizzy by the arm and prepared to personally guide her to the door. However, they were stopped short by the sudden, piercing cries of Wickham, who was clutching his stomach and flopping about pathetically.

"George!" cried Nanny Craig, rushing to his side, "why, whatever is the matter?"

It was at this moment that Bingley joined in the chaotic charade. His act was hardly as believable. "My stomach!" he managed to cry meekly, "it hurts so very badly!"

Wickham, however, made up for his cohort's shortcomings by magnificent theatrics. "My stomach! It feels as though a thousand knives are stabbing me!"

"Unnecessary," Lizzy muttered to Darcy, as she surveyed the scene, "but, nonetheless, brilliant. Wickham is a wonderful actor!"

Nanny Craig, however, did not overhear this hidden exchange, as she was too preoccupied with the pains of the two boys. "Shall I fetch a doctor?" she inquired, rather hurriedly. She was unused to displays of panic and pain.

"No!" cried Wickham, but he was stopped by Elizabeth, who approached Nanny Craig calmly.

"Tis probably only what they have eaten," she informed the harried nanny, "Cook did prepare some strange foreign dish for breakfast this morning." She winked at Wickham and Bingley, who managed statements of agreement. "You should probably send them upstairs to bed," she continued, "and allow Darcy and me to continue to the park by ourselves. We can manage."

Nanny Craig was too bewildered to voice suspicion. With a short nod, she waved aside the two 'healthy' children and escorted the moaning Wickham and Bingley up the stairs and out of sight.

Thus left to their own devices, Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged amused glances before darting down the hall towards the magnificent drawing room.

* * *

Fortunately for Elizabeth and Darcy, Lady Catherine was **_not _**in the drawing room upon their entrance.

"Most likely in the kitchens bossing about the servants," supplied Lizzy, as they tiptoed within, several boxes in hand. "Going about her usual dictatorial business."

Darcy followed, softly closing the door. "Do you think we can fit?" he inquired, motioning towards the dainty covered table that was arranged towards the center of the room.

"Unless I expand into a ten-foot monster with horns," replied Lizzy, bounding over to the table and inspecting its centerpiece, a collection of flowers. Quickly, she removed a bottle of ground Cayenne pepper (conveniently taken from Mr. Darcy's library, where a variety of foreign oddities were housed) and, holding her nose, generously dosed the floral arrangement with the pungent spice. "Perfect!" she declared, moments later, as she pocketed the bottle. Her smile was exuberant.

Darcy, however, was entirely too preoccupied to notice. He was taking care to slip a variety of boxes and supplies underneath the table.

"Did you slip the brandy into those two tea-cups?" he inquired of Elizabeth, completing his task.

Lizzy shrugged nonchalantly. "Drusilla volunteered," she replied, referring to the daughter of Nanny Craig, whom she had recently become reacquainted with, "she is peeling potatoes in the kitchen, so it will not look quite so suspicious."

He nodded. "Excellent. And the frogs?"

Lizzy smiled, revealing a small wooden crate filled with three large bullfrogs. "I found them near the pond yesterday," she informed him, slipping the box underneath the tea-table. "And named them all. But I shan't tell you that now, there are more important matters to attend to."

She drew out a list and surveyed it intently. "Pepper, frogs, brandy…" she read, "do you have the scissors and rope?"

Darcy nodded promptly.

"Excellent!" They were startled by the approach of voices. Without a moment's hesitation, both children slipped underneath the tea-table. It was covered with heavy brocade, so two people could easily be obscured beneath its folds. Thus situated, they could only await the arrival of the grand Lady Locksley and that noble parsonage of magnificence, Lady Catherine de Bourg.

Lady Locksley and her daughters, Lady Henrietta and Lady Eloise, respectively, swept into the room, adorned in such a variety of fripperies that they looked prepared to join the circus. Indeed, if any of the party possessed stronger ears, they would have been able to distinguish the laughter coming from beneath the table, as the two children concealed within surveyed their 'victims'. Fortunately, they possessed no such powers of discernment. With Lady Catherine attempting to be hospitable and attentive, they were seated at the table, where conversation commenced.

The conversation began with the weather, as most stiff and formal conversations are inclined to start. Indeed, for the next five to ten minutes the deplorable amount of rain was discussed to pieces, until everyone at the table, Darcy and Lizzy included, were sick of it. Lady Catherine was about to move into complimenting Lady Locksley on her extensive collection of diamonds, when she found herself overtaken by a fit of sneezing.

"Achoo!" she sneezed, in a most unladylike manner. "Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!" Her sneezes became more violent by the second, as more and more spit began to fly across the table. Lady Locksley looked rather pleased. Her smirk did not last long, however. She was soon sneezing herself, as were both of her daughters.

Between sneezes, Lady Catherine summoned the maid. She deemed the floral arrangement to be the root of the problem, and sent it away with a wave of her hand. Unfortunately, the sneezing outbreak did not subside until a little later.

"I must apologize," Lady Catherine finally said, after Hetty had uttered what everyone hoped was the last sneeze. "It must have been the flowers."

Lady Locksley nodded gravely. "Naturally." She adjusted her magnificent turban, which had gone rather array during her fit of the 'achoos'. Lady Catherine did likewise.

They talked idly about fashion until the maid brought in the tea-tray. Letty did an admirable job of serving, before retreating to a far corner to await the further needs of her mistress and her mistress's guests.

By the way in which they consumed their tea, it appeared that Lady Catherine and Lady Locksley were determined to outdo one another in elegance. Lady Catherine had the advantage, as she had always been very proficient in the art of tea-drinking, but Lady Locksley, being a duchess, was remarkably stiff competition. Conversation was almost nonexistent. Instead, the two warring parties surveyed each other warily, always prepared to be on the defense.

As Darcy and Lizzy both knew, however, things were about to become **_very _**interesting.

"So," began Lady Catherine, now attempting conversation, "how has your stay in London been?"

"Excellent," was the curt reply, "we enjoy the very best of society, as I am sure you know."

"Quite." Lady Catherine frowned and conversation was at a standstill.

Meanwhile, Henrietta and Eloise had become quite engrossed in draining their tea. Both had entirely dispensed with the entire process of daintiness. Instead, they were positively slurping-if so vulgar a word can be used in reference-their tea, much to the horror of Lady Locksley and the inward delight of Lady Catherine.

"Henrietta and Eloise!" hissed the duchess, rather pink in the face, "wherever have your manners gone?" Her reprimand was to no avail. Hetty, bright-eyed and rosy, had begun hiccupping, and Eloise was nosily draining the remains of her tea-cup.

Lady Locksley forced herself to meet the eyes of her hostess. "I must apologize, Lady Catherine, for the…" Her eyes narrowed suddenly, and, without a moment's hesitation, she snatched Hetty's teacup from her hands and held it to her nose. Ignoring her daughter's slurred arguments, Lady Locksley dropped the cup with a clatter. "I should have expected as much from you, Catherine de Bourg!" Her tone was quite hostile.

Poor Lady Catherine was understandably taken aback. "Excuse me?" she inquired, obviously bewildered.

"Oh! Do not play coy with me! I know your tricks." Lady Locksley's tone was accusing. "How dare you! To commit so blatant an act, all at the expensive of an old schoolfellow. To subject me to such humiliation! How dare you!" Lady Locksley's face, by this time, was beet red.

Hetty and Eloise were nosily laughing.

"You dare to blame me for this display of…vulgarity!" cried Lady Catherine, who, admittedly, always had the upper hand in a fight. "Why should **_I_** be held accountable for the obvious slatternly behavior of **_your _**daughters?"

Lady Locksley's eyes narrowed. "You obviously had one of your servants put some form of strong spirits into their tea-cups."

"I most certainly did not!"

"All for the purpose of subjecting my family to scandal! I know you have always been jealous of me, Catherine de Bourg, but this is **_low_**…even for you."

"Stop!" Lady Catherine was beyond enraged. Her nostrils were flaring dangerous, and she looked as though she was ready to fling something at the duchess's head. "I shall hear no more accusations or slurs against my abilities as a hostess!" She paused, as though for dramatic effect. "Get out of my house this instant!"

Lady Locksley sucked in air, unable to believe the disrespect. "There is no need to dismiss me. I could not be prevailed to stay a moment longer in **_such_** a household!" She made a move to stand. But Lizzy and Darcy, beneath the table, had used scissors to cut away a large portion of her elegant ensemble. Revealed now beneath all the frippery was wrinkled skin the color of paper and frilled petticoats. This only furthered the mortification and anger of that noble lady.

"How dare you!" she screeched, so loud that the rafters of the house shook. "How **_dare _**you, Lady Catherine de Bourg! When I am done, no respectable person in London will have anything to do with you or any of your family!"

The threat fell on deaf ears. Although apparently amused by the display, Lady Catherine did not intend to apologize. She inwardly wondered how part of Lady Locksley's dress had been cut away, but she had not further time to wonder. From beneath the table scurried three enormous bullfrogs.

The occupants at the table reacted in much the same way. They all attempted to run in different directions, screeching loudly. Again, Lizzy and Darcy triumphed. During the process of the tea-party, they had tied the ankles of the noble ladies together with rope, so that they were all joined in some form or fashion. Instead of flying in opposite directions, Lady Catherine, Lady Locksley, and two very drunk young ladies went careening into the table. Food flew everywhere, much of it landing on the four principle personages.

It was at this point that Lizzy and Darcy made their escape, quietly slipping from beneath the table and wordlessly out the door. It was also at this point that the butler entered. Fortunately, he had seen worse things in his life. With an elegant wave to the maid and a few well-placed orders, everyone was untied.

Lady Locksley waited not a moment longer. Instead of accepting the use of one of Lady Catherine's cloaks to hide the unfortunate gaping hole in her garment, she escorted her daughters, both leaning on the other's shoulders and singing old English drinking songs, out the door and into the awaiting carriage.

Meanwhile, Lizzy and Darcy were halfway to the park. As Lady Locksley's carriage rattled past, Lizzy glanced at Darcy and smiled broadly. "I think this has been a very rewarding day, don't you?"

Darcy could only nod and laugh in amazement at the mess they had just accomplished.

* * *

Next Chapter: Fishing for Trouble 


	18. Dear Jane

_Very short chapter. I just wanted to include this letter because it is a precursor to my next chapter, called Fishing for Trouble. My updates have been, I know, quite irregular, but summer is finally here, and I have plenty of time on my hands to write! Reviews are welcome, of course, but suggestions even more so! I need some fresh ideas for Elizabeth's future exploits in London. _

Dear Jane,

I am in dreadful trouble! You would be very shocked if you knew how much, so I will not elaborate. Only let me say that Lady Catherine is the horrible jail-matron in the entire world; ten times worse than Mama…and that is saying something! Anyway, I will not bore you any more on that score, because I daresay you do not want to hear any more about it.

Right now, I am eating an apple. Darcy and I are having a contest to see who can eat the most without becoming ill…so far I have eaten ten and he has eaten fifteen. Yesterday, we had a contest to see who could slide down the banister the most times without Lady Catherine noticing. I really was not supposed to be out of my room-she locked me in there as punishment-but the lock was extraordinary easy to pick, and it was such a temptation! Anyway, I was sliding down the banister at exactly the same moment the Earl of Matlock was coming in the door with the butler and I knocked right into him! It was great fun. All of the air went out of his stomach, and we both went flying down onto the carpet. I do not think _**he**_ thought it was fun, though because he looked dreadfully angry and uttered the most wonderful curse words. I wrote them down on a sheet of paper as soon as I got back to my room! Anyway, I told him that my name was Brunhilda, and that I was an escaped criminal for Norway…then I ran back upstairs with Darcy and we locked ourselves back into our rooms. It would all have gone quite well had that horrible butler not informed Lady Catherine. I really don't understand why he refuses to be friends with me! So now I'm punished even more. I doubt I'll be able to come out of my room for the ball.

About the ball…it's supposed to be great fun. But that's according to Anne, who thinks anything involving dressing up fun. Not that dressing up is _**not **_fun, as long as it is something interesting, like a pirate or an elephant or Napoleon…but she does not mean that kind of dressing up. She means the Amelia form of dressing up; pink dresses and bows and ribbons. I would rather read the dictionary a million times over than dress up in bows and ribbons. But you know that. Anyway, I already knew about the ball because I intercepted the invitation, (don't be shocked; reading other people's mail is a perfectly normal thing to do) and I had the most thrilling plan cooked up…but then Lady Catherine had to go and spoil it by not having a sense of humor. She doesn't even_** like **_the Duchess of Locksley! She should be thanking me! But I am not going to tell you the story, as I said before, because you would think it a very unladylike thing to do, etc. etc.

I am sending you my bird-feather collection for safe-keeping (Lady Catherine has threatened to burn it) and would send you Maid Marion, only it would be too difficult to smuggle her out of the house without Lady Catherine seeing. I really wish she would lock me in the Tower, (at least that's what I call it; it's really an attic) but she is not quite that crazy…yet.

I think that Darcy is going to beat me in the green apple eating game. He just beat three times on the wall, which means that he is another apple ahead of me. I think it is dreadfully unfair, because he is a good three inches taller than me and can fit more food inside of him, but I won't complain, because then I would be a bad sport. We have a system worked out, you know, to help us communicate throughout our long prison sentence. We beat on the wall that separates our rooms. It's very complex. And Charles and Wickham will occasionally slip notes underneath our doors to keep us entertained. I slipped a picture of Lady Catherine with a moustache to Charles and heard him laugh.

Mr. Darcy comes to visit me frequently. He tells me that I have done a very bad thing, but I don't believe him, because his eyes are always twinkling. Most of the time, he leaves me chocolate cakes. Only he doesn't want me to know that he leaves them, but I do. He also leaves books. I was very sad, you know, when Lady Catherine locked me my room, because I could not have access to the library, but Mr. Darcy is very considerate on that point and leaves me the most thrilling adventure novels. I am quite stuck on them, really.

I would write more, but my hand is cramped and I must concentrate my full energy on eating more green apples than Darcy. I hope everyone at home is happy. I won't go so far as to say that they miss me; I daresay that Mama and Amelia have been in raptures since my departure. I miss you, however, and I hope that you do not find my behavior particularly horrid. Tell Papa that I miss him and even Mama if you wish. Tell Amelia that I hope she is abducted by highwaymen.

Yours,

Lizzy


	19. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N** This was originally supposed to be posted with the _Dear Jane _letter. I am very sorry that I have been churning out such short chapters! It is just easier for me to write that way…incrementally and everything. Anyway, I am so excited about the next two chapters! I have drawn up scads of rough notes and have already begun to start.

Anyway, I have another idea based around an _American Idol _type P&P story with Lizzy as a contestant and Darcy as…you guessed it…a younger version of Simon Cowell. Would anyone be interested in reading it? I really don't know if I'll have time to write it, but I do have some pretty good ideas.

Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you read Chapter 19!

* * *

Chapter 19

_Calm Before the Storm_

By some miracle, or, perhaps, the intervening hand of Mr. Darcy, who felt one week's confinement more than adequate time for Elizabeth and Darcy to mull over their actions, the prisoners were released from their rooms in time to attend the grand Eckington ball.

Elizabeth, for her part, was very much excited that she would not be forced to abandon the scheme she had concocted during her long and solitary sojourn exiled to her room and, with only the slightest bit of persuasion, soon had her usual army assembled. Obviously, Lady Catherine's idea of silent contemplation and solitary confinement had done little to alter Lizzy's mischievous ways; she was as determined as ever to be devious. Indeed, she had spent much of her sentence in eating green apples, picking the lock to her room, sliding down banisters, inventing a secret wall code, drawing pictures of Lady Catherine with a moustache, practicing pirate slang in the mirror, and writing a letter to Napoleon calling his military strategies at Waterloo any number of things, brilliant not being among them. For this endeavor, she had referenced her book of curse words, in order to make her letter all the more potent.

In short, she had done everything _**but **_contemplate her terrible actions, and the only things she felt truly repentant about were the frogs, as she had never been able to see them safely back to the pond and rather thought that they still lurked about the house or had fallen victim to Cook.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth was very excited about the Eckington ball-she _**had **_intercepted the invitation, after all-and even the knowledge that she would be stuck with the other young guests did not alarm her. As a matter of fact, she accepted the news with unusual cheerfulness. It was _**this**_ cavalier mood that alarmed Mr. Darcy, who thought Elizabeth's sudden willingness to please highly suspect. He did not, however, reveal his suspicions to Lady Catherine, for fear that she would march the girl to the Tower of London and throw her into the deepest, darkest cell available.

Yet Mr. Darcy, who, by that time, knew Lizzy's disposition as well as his own, was quite sure that she had some plan in formulation. If the way in which she submitted to the knowledge of being kept in a nursery with other children during the ball was not proof enough, her uncharacteristic willingness to wear an alarmingly hideous beribboned dress _**was**_.

Never had Mr. Darcy laid eyes on a more hideous concoction-in was an unearthly shade of pink covered in yards of ribbon and lace in clashing colors-and he wondered if Lady Catherine, who was, oddly enough, in charge of Lizzy's wardrobe-had forced her to wear it out of spite. Forced, however, was not the word, as Elizabeth had submitted to wearing it quite docilely and without even one reference to blowing it to shreds with her mighty arsenal of gunpowder.

When he found Lizzy downstairs making faces at herself in the mirror, he was considerably relieved, but even _**that**_ gleam of normality did little to remove his suspicions. Hoping for the best and, subconsciously, a bit of amusement during an evening that would no doubt be very tedious, Mr. Darcy said nothing to Lizzy and very pointedly avoided the probing gaze of his sister-in-law during the long carriage ride to the Eckington's London mansion.

Lady Catherine, on the other hand, despite putting up a very convincing front that she was outraged, was secretly rather pleased by the outcome. It was very gratifying to see the Duchess of Locksley humiliated beneath her own roof and to be able to pin the blame on someone else. Had anyone been passing her bedchamber door the evening after the disastrous tea party, they may have been able to overhear something very similar to laughter. However, as Lady Catherine never laughed, they would have probably dismissed it as the wind. That being said, Lady Catherine was supremely pleased with the world and with the fact that she would no longer have to host an annual tea party for the insufferable Duchess of Locksley. Had she not such an intense dislike for '_**that**_ Bennet girl', she would have felt rather indebted to her. This thought, however, Lady Catherine banished to the furthest corners of her mind and went about her customary routine of treating the girl with the utmost of dislike with relish. After all, she had never been indebted to anyone, except her husband, for dying and leaving her a substantial fortune, and was not about to be to '_**that**_ Bennet girl'.

That evening in the carriage she was particularly waspish, as she had put up a very good argument the day before listing the exact reasons why '_**that**_ Bennet girl' should not be allowed to attend the ball, only to be gainsaid by Mr. Darcy. If there was one thing that aggravated Lady Catherine the most, it was her brother-in-law's stubborn defense of the girl and his constant excuses for her actions. She simply could _**not**_ understand why he was so sympathetic to the plight of a savage. Unlike Anne, however, she could not commandeer Mr. Darcy and boss him about, so she kept her words to herself and merely glowered at him, which, she noted in the carriage, with some satisfaction, had begun to work its effects and unsettle him.

When the carriage pulled up into the wide sweep of the Eckington drive, an unusual party emerged. Mr. Darcy, looking rather grim, was silently praying that Lizzy not attempt anything too risky, Lady Catherine, with an inward smile, was glowering very pointedly at her brother-in-law, Elizabeth was looking, if anything, quite impish, although her dress considerably diminished her intimidation factor, Darcy was looking at Elizabeth's dress and attempting not to laugh (he had been boxed in the ears for making jokes about it earlier), Wickham was inspecting his attire to ensure that it was quite free of wrinkles, Charles was still rather red from Elizabeth's earlier comment about his alarming tendency to blush-at which he had, condemningly, blushed, and Anne, allowed out of her room for the first time in ages, was starring awestruck at the house.

If anything, it was destined to be _**yet**_ another eventful evening.


	20. Fishing for Trouble

_Fishing for Trouble_

The children were deposited in the Eckington nursery to the charge of a portly, rubicund nursemaid who reeked of sherry. Situated upon a stool entirely too small for her large form, she leered drunkenly at the children as they entered. Rather conspicuous of the irony (the Eckington's _**should**_ have been able to employ a more reputable guardian for their children), but entirely too caught up in her plans to voice her amusement to the others, Elizabeth greeted the nursemaid good-humoredly, helped her to pour a very liberal glass of spirits, and waited by the door for the woman to succumb to drunken stupor.

Her attention, however, was soon directed elsewhere by a very nervous Bingley. "Lizzy," he whispered, nudging her with his elbow, "why is everyone starring at us?" He was referring to the other children in the room, who had fallen silent after the arrival of their party. Innumerable pairs of eyes were focused upon them, particularly on Lizzy.

Elizabeth glared at them. Attention was the _**last**_ thing she desired. At first, she thought she had gained so much attention because of her dress. It _**was**_, as she very well knew, a remarkably ugly dress. It had taken all of her self-restraint _**not **_to rip it to shreds the moment she had laid eyes upon it, but she knew that would have ruined everything, and Lady Catherine would never have allowed her out of the house. Still, Lizzy was not particularly happy to be the center of attention. Being the center of attention would not make sneaking stealthily out of the room a very easy task, as she knew from experience.

But Elizabeth soon discovered that it was not the dress but an entirely different source that had made her the center of interest.

"That's her," came the breathless whisper of a pudgy youth, "the pirate girl. She'll run her sword through you. I bet she has it right now!" Obviously, Elizabeth Bennet's reputation had preceded her.

Not at all out of sorts about being the talk of the nursery, Elizabeth cast the children a very toothy grin. "That's right!" she cried, good-humoredly, "but I only run swords through people who are cross and disagreeable. So please do not give me a reason to run it through _**you**_."

Anne had, by this time, deserted their party to be enveloped by the crowd of children. She was not _**about**_ to be tainted by association with the notorious Elizabeth Bennet. And her mama would heartily disapprove of such pranks. If her mama disapproved, well, then so did Anne!

Lizzy watched her depart, unphased. She glanced over at the nursemaid, who was nodding off, her large form swinging from side to side and making the stool sway dangerously on its legs. Turning her attention back to the children, she still found herself the object of stares.

"I do not understand why you all are gawking at me. Perhaps it is not everyday you see a pirate, but, for the sake of my sanity, go about it more discreetly!"

"I would not anger her," put in Darcy, for Elizabeth's benefit.

"Yes, yes!" Wickham and Bingley chimed it, "she has a nasty temper!"

"And I'm an excellent shot!" Lizzy boasted, in a manner that was rather too cheerful.

Keeping one eye upon the nursemaid, who was lightly snoring upon her stool, Elizabeth darkened her glare at the children. They were huddled together, all firmly in belief that there was safety in numbers. "Now, it is very rude to stare at pirates!" she continued, "and I do not appreciate it at all. I should have thought you would have _**some**_ manners! I daresay Blackbeard was more polite than you scallywags. Unfit to swab my decks, you are!" Her tone was censorious, but her eyes were sparkling. "Now, do go about whatever stupid things you were doing…play dolls or something and leave _**me**_ alone!"

It took some time for the children to comply with her request, as they all wanted a very good look at the pirate. Very gradually, however, normal activity resumed in the nursery.

"That's better," Elizabeth said, her eyes dancing with something akin to pleasure. It was _**nice**_ to be feared by nursery-children, almost as nice as terrifying the butler and the maids and drawing pictures of Lady Catherine with a moustache and beating Wickham at spades. Children were so easy to intimidate, especially ones gullible enough to believe that she would actually run them through with a sword.

She did not have much time to bask in the glow of being terrified, however, as loud snores began to issue from the nursemaid, who had, by that time, toppled off the stool, and was napping peacefully on the carpet.

"Here is our opportunity!" cried Wickham gleefully.

Elizabeth nodded. "Quietly now." Without further ado, she, Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham crept towards the door, opened it quietly (although it did persist in squeaking somewhat), and slipped from the room. In a matter of seconds, they were safe in a large, spacious hallway, away from the prying gaze of the children.

"Do you think anyone saw us?" asked Bingley, his forehead puckering in worry.

"No," remarked Elizabeth promptly, "and if they did, I do not think they will tell for fear I'll run them through with my sword.'

"The foyer's this way," whispered Darcy, who evidently felt that they needed to be quieter. He motioned towards the left.

"No need for that!" cried Elizabeth loudly, "there aren't any servants around. Everyone is at the ball." She whacked him playfully over the head.

Darcy did not respond well to such abuse. He glowered at her and returned the blow, but she ducked and eluded him. Without so much as a glance backwards, she scurried down the richly carpeted hall.

"Lizzy!" called Bingley, jogging, "wait up, will you?!"

Darcy bounded ahead quickly, giving chase, leaving Wickham and Bingley to go about following to the best of their ability. The Eckington mansion, true to its enormous façade, was quite large and had enough hallways to prove it. Lizzy, not caring at all for directions, ran about like a madwoman, until, at last, she arrived at the railing of the grand Eckington staircase, Darcy in tow. Bingley and Wickham, not quite as nimble as their two friends, arrived, panting, a few moments later.

The grand staircase was very aptly named. Constructed of polished mahogany wood that gleamed in the glow of the heavy crystal chandelier that glimmered from above, the staircase wound upwards in a circular fashion, very fashionably carpeted in deep burgundy. In the foyer from which the staircase began, various elegant equipages milled around, all waiting to be received by Lord and Lady Eckington, who stood as the guardians of the ballroom.

Elizabeth, Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham were positioned on the second-floor balustrade, a prime position that enabled them full view of the guests below.

"Perfect," said Lizzy, "absolutely perfect. The alcove she chose was positioned, if not precisely above the guests, quite adequate for her purposes. Enlisting the help of Darcy, she undid the topmost buttons of her hideous dress and, to the general awe of her comrades, extracted a long, wooden fishing pole baited with a dull hook.

"At least this dress is good for something," she casually remarked to Darcy.

"How did you…"

"What?"

Bingley and Wickham asked incredulously.

"No time for questions," replied Elizabeth matter-of-factly, positioning herself Indian-style before the gleaming mahogany railing and preparing her line.

Faces still bemused, the others did likewise.

The foyer below was filled near to capacity with people, elegant guests appearing not so elegant as they were squashed together unbecomingly, mingling about as they waited to be 'received' by Lord and Lady Eckington. There were scads of people about; dandies, rouges, poets, beauties, rakes, spinsters, matrons, bluestockings, toadies. Had Elizabeth not been so absorbed in her fishing reel, she would have delighted in analyzing their various personalities. As it was, however, she was quite occupied.

"Are you quite sure this is right, Elizabeth?" inquired Bingley, whose face had gone from crimson to green. As much as he did not want to admit it, he was rather afraid of heights. The slats in the banister provided a dizzying view of the polished marble floor below, and Charles did not think that the fat matron below him would break his fall. He gulped.

She gave him a reassuring pat, guessing the nature of his uneasiness. "Do not worry, Charles. You shan't go over. I'll hook your pants before I let you fall."

Charles did not look much reassured, although he did manage a smile.

"Alright, it is time!" cried Lizzy, with a very wide smile.

"Just be careful," cautioned Bingley.

Drawing the line up expertly, Elizabeth cast it over the banister and into the throng of guests milling below. Much to her amusement, no one noticed; they were far too absorbed in being noticed themselves to think a fishing line and dull hook anything out of the ordinary.

Some people, however, did think something amiss.

"Rather unusual decoration," Elizabeth overheard one dandy say to another, motioning towards the line hanging above his head, "but demned clever, I say!"

"Indeed," remarked his rather tipsy companion, "indeed. What a lark!"

Suffice it to say, the group assembled above stairs had a very difficult time sustaining laughter.

The room was very crowded and, despite her excellent fishing skills, Elizabeth had a difficult time maneuvering it around without snagging fabric and people's diamond necklaces. Furthermore, she was having trouble getting a firm grip on things she _**did**_ want to snag. It was all very annoying.

The hook, as if by its own accord, gravitated to the revealing neckline of a buxom young woman. Said woman was chatting amiably with an officer in red, although the officer did not appear to be paying any attention her face, much less what she said. This made Elizabeth frown. Catching the up the fabric that formed the offending neckline, she abruptly yanked it upwards into a more modest style. This action elicited the sighs of her companions, the bewilderment of the officer, and the surprise of the young lady.

"She was asking for it!" Lizzy said, in her own defense, "and it is simply impossible to have an intelligent conversation dressed like _**that**_." More thoughtfully, she said, "I daresay she's the closest thing to a hussy I've ever seen."

Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham exchanged baffled glances over Elizabeth's head.

"Oh, do grow up!" she snapped, in annoyance, "maids gossip, you know."

Quite annoyed, she passed the line to Darcy.

He grinned. With deliberate purpose, he moved the hook over towards a dandy adorned entirely in puce. Said dandy was sporting a wine glass and speaking to a short-sighted young lady who squinted up at him, no doubt blinded by his attire.

… "do you find it awkward wearing bonnets? Are they very comfortable?" inquired the dandy, with an unusual amount of interest.

"I suppose you grow accustomed to them," was the lukewarm answer.

"Indeed, do you? The ones made of straw are particularly ugly, I think, and they do not look at all the thing."

"I suppose it is all a matter of taste," replied Short-sighed girl rather stiffly; she had purchased a straw bonnet only the other day.

Hooking the stem of the dandy's wine glass, Darcy ever so slightly lifted it from his hand. So absorbed in millinery, however, the dandy did not notice. Fortunately, his companion did.

"I say, Reggie!" she exclaimed, suddenly very alert, "your glass!"

"My what?" he inquired, yet to realize that he was grasping at air. Darcy promptly returned the glass to his owner.

"Your glass!" repeated the woman, aghast, "it was hanging in the air."

"Was it really, Minerva?" he inquired, "or is this all some sort of joke? Do you wish me to stop talking about bonnets?"

"Reggie!" she cried, "your glass was in the air. I promise!"

"That is quite ridiculous. Where _**do**_ you get your ideas? Those blasted novels, no doubt. I say, Minerva, as your fiancé, I do not approve at all of those…"

"Reggie!" she cried, "there it is again! Your glass is in the air!"

"Ye gads, my girl, you're right!" cried Reggie, turning the color of his outfit and making a grab for the glass that hovered only inches above his hand. Darcy promptly raised the glass higher.

"Whatever in the world…"

"My glass!" screeched Reggie, "my glass!" He leapt higher and higher in pursuit.

"Do keep it down, Reggie," put in his fiancé, blushing.

"My glass!" It seemed his entire vocabulary had deserted him.

"How unseemly," whispered a matron nearby, "shocking behavior from the younger son of an earl!"

"Oh, do come back down!"

Darcy, biting back laughter, unhooked the glass. It fell into Reggie's open hand. The look on the young man's face was too much for words. Minerva, meanwhile, appeared as though she had second thoughts on the matter of their upcoming nuptials.

Content with his work, Darcy reeled up the line and returned it to Lizzy.

"Say, Lizzy, let me," hissed Wickham, grabbing for the reel. Lizzy promptly shoved him in the face.

"Serves you right for snatching," she said in response to his gasp of annoyance. She then handed the reel to Bingley, who took it uncertainly.

He made a half-hearted cast over the banister. Bobbing it about clumsily, he accidentally caught up the powdered wig of the large, matronly lady dripping with diamonds that he had only earlier hoped would break his fall. Startled, Charles flung both line and wig upwards just as the woman's shrill screech sounded. Patting her sparse gray locks in dismay-a rapid change from the lush curls that had crowned her head only seconds earlier-the lady got down on hands and knees and began to scour the room for her runaway wig.

Wickham who had, by this time, commandeered the line from a trembling Charles, anchored the hook into the back of the lady's voluminous dress and, without the slightest bit of compassion for her plight, tugged until the skirts flew up to reveal a very frilly assortment of undergarments. This action was quite unbeknownst to the lady, who continued to crawl about on all fours, oblivious to both propriety and her exposed nether regions. Whispered voices followed her progress, but no one got down to help her. This made Elizabeth rather mad, and, without further ado, she whacked Wickham in the back of her head and reclaimed her reel. Thus situated, she corrected the situation, leaving the lady a tad more civilized. The wig, however, Lizzy kept for her own possession. It would, she mused, prove useful.

Determined that Bingley should have his fair share of the line, Elizabeth forced him to take it once again. Rather upset with the wig fiasco, he reclaimed it with haste and cast it over the side without so much as looking over first. The hook disappeared for several minutes, until Bingley felt a very strong tug. Pulling with all the strength he could muster, Bingley reeled in the line…

only to reveal a very chubby pug dog on the other end, suspended halfway in the air, the hook caught on his bejeweled collar. The weight of the dog proved to be too much; with a snap, the line broke, and both dog and hook tumbled into the crowd. The dog was expertly caught by a tall man wearing spectacles, while the hook took hold of the back of a lady's dress.

Elizabeth glowered at Bingley, who looked, if anything, extraordinarily apologetic.

"You can make things better by helping me up," Elizabeth said, after forcing herself not utter a string of curses at her unwitting companion. With unusual alacrity, Bingley assisted her.

"I am very sorry…"

She cut him off. "No need for apologies. Blame the dog, if you like."

Darcy intervened to say, "Almost everyone is through the receiving line. The ball is about to begin."

A smile replaced the frown on Elizabeth's face; she appeared to be extraordinarily pleased. "Excellent!" she cried, twirling a very bemused Bingley about, "it is time to enact Phase 2!"


	21. Just Desserts?

**A/N: Okay...I just want to thank two great reviewers koRnChildG and Mockingbyrd's Tune for their reviews. I mean, talk about a pick-me-up! Mockingbyrd's Tune...I really appreciate your grammar assistance. Looking back, I finally realize I have a _ton_ of mistakes. Unfortunately, I am just too lazy to correct them. Anyway, I really like this chapter...and I think that there will be two more. Hope it's not too much of a cliffhanger at the end...and there are some notes at the end too, relating to the story and everything. Enjoy!**

* * *

**_Just Desserts?_**

The hour was approaching midnight.

Mr. Darcy surveyed the grand Eckington ballroom and gave a very exaggerated sigh. Said sigh was supposed to alert Lady Catherine to his desire to return home, but his sister-in-law remained impervious to his less-than-subtle plea. She was chatting animatedly with an old schoolmate and would not countenance being interrupted.

Leaning heavily against a marble pillar, Mr. Darcy found himself imagining himself far away from the ballroom-anywhere but, for that matter. A deserted island in the Caribbean, the wild American frontier, somewhere in icy Siberia…

Mr. Darcy laughed at his own fancifulness and found himself wishing that Lizzy were there, sharing in his amusement. She would certainly find something entertaining. He wondered what she was up to, trapped upstairs in that nursery. No doubt hatching some nefarious plot with her cohorts or planning to conquer the world. He would not put it past her.

"I say, is that you, Uncle Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy stiffened and forced himself to turn around. His face had grown perceptively greener.

"Ah, Reginald!" he managed, with false cheer. The man he turned to face was no other than his nephew-a decided dandy sporting an ensemble of such an unimaginable color that it rivaled even Lizzy's dress in hideousness. Unlike Lizzy, however, Reginald Fitzhugh was not aware of this fact.

"The very one!" exclaimed Reginald, clapping a hand upon his uncle's shoulder. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Mr. Darcy would like to have informed Reggie that it was not in the least bit surprising that they both would attend the same social events but refrained, fearing that his relative's less than astute intelligence would suffer as a result. Instead, he smiled and asked to be introduced to the drab young lady standing near Reggie's elbow.

"Ah!" exclaimed Reggie, "so you have not met Minerva yet, eh? I daresay, Uncle Darcy, she's a capital girl, ain't you, Minerva?"

Minerva very pointedly corrected his grammatical error before informing Mr. Darcy that she had not the least idea how Reggie came by his scatterbrained notions. At which Mr. Darcy found that he very much liked the girl and wondered why on earth she had attached herself to his nephew. The answer came soon enough.

"You know," Reggie said, slipping his arm around Minerva's waist in a very possessive manner. "I was quite surprised when Minerva actually considered my proposal. Fancy her considering me, of all people! Not that she had many other options…" From the lips of any other gentleman, this comment would have been considered an insult. From the lips of Reginald Fitzhugh, it was merely an innocent observation. Thankfully, the dignity of the lady concerned appeared undamaged. She had obviously accustomed herself to her finance.

"Isn't she a picture, Uncle Darcy?" asked Reggie, looking supremely pleased with his future bride. "I don't think there's a girl in London who can compare."

Mr. Darcy begged to differ…not aloud, of course. Miss Minerva Stanhope was plain, at best. Her features were sharp and angular, her eyes critically observant, and her nose was crooked. Not willing to insult her further, however, or upset his enthusiastic nephew, he lied quite convincingly that she was the most beautiful young woman he had ever laid eyes upon.

Instead of giggling and turning a becoming shade of pink, Minerva merely snorted and informed Mr. Darcy that he needn't lie for the sake of her vanity. She was quite aware that she had not the least claim to beauty and, on that note, excused herself.

"She's frightfully intelligent!" Reggie whispered to his uncle, although there really was no need, since Minerva was quite out of hearing range. "I don't know how we shall get along."

"I'm sure you both will deal famously," Mr. Darcy said, with a winning smile, although he thought exactly the opposite.

This sentiment seemed to comfort Reggie. He looked rather ponderous for a moment, (as ponderous as any empty-headed young dandy of the time _**could**_ look) before informing his uncle of the very strange event that had transpired in the Eckington receiving line.

… "my glass, you see, was suspended in the air…all by itself!" Reggie exclaimed, "it was terribly frightening, Uncle Darcy. If only had you been there…"

Mr. Darcy was quite used to his nephew's oddities and though the incident merely a trick of his poor relative's imagination. "Well, I'm sure it was nothing quite out of the usual," he said.

Although not bright, Reggie did not take this answer very well. "Not out of the usual?" he inquired, as though picking up on his uncle's inattention. "I say, Uncle Darcy, what do _**you**_ consider the usual?"

Mr. Darcy was not given time to reply, however, as Minerva had returned to collect her charge.

"I fear you have had quite enough of Reggie for one evening," she informed him crisply, as she steered her unfortunate betrothed towards the punch table.

Mr. Darcy was, to say the least, relieved. He returned to his departure hopes, as Reggie was firmly escorted out of sight…

* * *

At the stroke of midnight, a mysterious woman clad in an outdated ensemble consisting of a voluminous petticoat and an elaborate yellowed mantle entered the ballroom. It was difficult to discern whether she was a woman at first, as she was quite tall and walked about in a rather awkward manner, teetering dangerously back and forth. However, due to a heavily powdered face and wig, her gender was soon identified, and everyone quickly lost interest. 

Besides being mysterious dressed, the woman was also mysteriously tall. Suspiciously tall…unnaturally tall.

Due to her elaborate dress, she was quickly accosted by a gentleman of renowned mercenary ways, who obviously thought her something of an heiress.

He dipped an elaborate curtsey and introduced himself as Lord Something-or-another.

The lady batted her eyelashes demurely.

"How _**do**_ you do?" he inquired, winding a finger through his expertly curled moustache.

"Very well, thank-you. I only have the plague." The lady sneezed violently. "May I borrow your handkerchief?"

"Oh! Dear!" Lord Something-or-another exclaimed, frantically glancing about the room, "what a very magnificent potted plant in the corner. I must go and inspect it." With that exclamation, he crossed the room in much haste.

"Lizzy!" hissed the lady's stomach. She promptly whacked it. A sharp yelp resulted from such abuse.

"Quiet!" she hissed. Her stomach, however, had other ideas.

"You needn't hit me. I was only going to ask why you told him that."

"It was the easiest way to get rid of him. Nothing more effective than saying one has the plague to scare off potential fortune-hunters." The lady-who had been unmasked as none other than Lizzy Bennet, perched upon the shoulders of Darcy-said nonchalantly.

"Which way should I move?" it inquired, refusing to take her advice.

"Towards the punch table," she replied, "steady now."

Yet another gentleman approached her, however, before Darcy could move in such a direction. Lizzy did not catch his name in her irritation. She had more important things to be about…

The gentleman inquired after her name.

"My name, sir!" exclaimed the lady, with a vehement snap of her fan, "is Lady Marguerite Henrietta Marmaduke Amelia Hightower Fluorination-Florentine. How do you do?"

"Ah," he smiled uneasily and swept yet another courtly bow, "my lady."

"Indeed," replied Lady M, "you should be properly awed. I am, after all, related to the king." She assumed a regal pose.

"Are you really?" cried quite another voice, which was soon discovered to belong to the Duke of York, who had just happened to be passing at the moment, "why how fortuitous! I am related to the king too." He swaggered dangerously and attempted to force his eyes into focus. Noticing the empty wine glass in his hand, Lizzy assumed he had consumed enough alcohol to be easily convinced of her legitimacy.

She extended a gloved hand (the glove fit her awkwardly-it was entirely too big), which he slobbered over, attempting a kiss. Withdrawing her hand, she lifted her nose high into the air and said, in ringing accents, "How _**do**_ you do, esteemed kinsman?"

"Kinsman? Yes…I daresay. We are kinsman, are we not?" The Duke smiled benignly and struggled to maintain balance. Lizzy was having an equally difficult time of it, although the cause of her awkwardness was not due to drink.

She rapped Darcy in the head accidentally and he uttered a short protest. The Duke, however, was too inebriated to hear and the other man had quickly made his exit at the sight of two such prominent peers.

"So, Kinsman, how many heads have _**you**_ chopped off lately?" inquired Lizzy, breezing past the introduction.

"I daresay I don't chop off heads. Nasty business. Thought it had been banned ages ago." The Duke scratched his head in bewilderment.

"It is all the vogue to chop heads off these days," Lizzy informed him, "I do it all the time."

"Has it really come into fashion?" the Duke inquired, looking rather green.

Lizzy nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes. _**Everyone**_ is doing it these days. It's so very…16th century, you know?"

"Indeed," the Duke titled upwards on his heels. He surveyed Lady M with a great deal of interest. "Now…what relation are you to the king?" he finally asked, trying valiantly to appear sober.

Lizzy assumed a morose expression. "Did you not know?"

"Know what?"

"The sad history of my life." Lizzy managed a tearful sob, after which the Duke solicitously handed her a handkerchief reeking of sherry and patted her on the shoulder.

"Come, come." He smiled up at her (she was, indeed, a good two inches above him) and reached a comforting hand to her shoulder. "It can't be all that bad."

"Says you!" Lizzy snapped waspishly, "as you were not abandoned by your parents as a child!"

"Abandoned? Oh, dear. Nasty business, abandonment." The Duke considered such 'nasty business' for a moment. Something akin to surprise registered across his face. "Say, did you say _**abandonment**_?" Reality had finally dawned upon the poor inebriated peer.

Lady M nodded, graciously ignoring his ignorance. "Indeed. Abandoned. Left to make my own way in a cruel and merciless world…dropped into the deep abyss of oblivion...it pains me greatly to speak of it."

"Unfathomable!" exclaimed the Duke, with an unusually good use of vocabulary, "to imagine any member of my brother's family abandoned…any member of _my_ family, for that matter." He paused thoughtfully for a moment before asking, "What relation are you to the king again?"

Realizing that she could not longer bypass her heritage, Lizzy informed the Duke grandly that she was the King's long lost sister.

"You don't say!" exclaimed the Duke, "the King's long lost sister?" He puzzled a moment over such a sensational piece of information-turning it over in his foggy mind, before, with a great deal of excitement, he exclaimed, "By jove, that means you're my sister too!"

Lizzy nodded austerely. "Had you any sense of duty, you would have discovered me long, long ago."

At this exclamation, the Duke appeared to be quite upset-his face assuming the helplessly inconsolable expression of a lost puppy with no one to turn too. This expression, however, was more the workings of good wine than any real remorse. By the following morning, the Duke would have forgotten everything to a raging headache. At present, however, he was quite ready to make amends with his poor, abandoned relation. "What a shame…to imagine my parents would leave you so heartlessly. What made them do it?"

"I was a girl!" Lizzy informed him, "can you not see that? And I displayed great aptitude as a child for military strategy. They could not bear my genius. So they disposed of me…sent me to France, for that matter."

The Duke shuddered. "France? How heartless. How cruel. How…"

"Fortunately I was taken in by a band of kindly pirates, who nurtured my great intellect and strove to ensure that I had nothing but the best seafood to dine upon."

"Pirates! Ye gads! I am surprised you are here today."

Lizzy fumed. "What a common misconception! To fear pirates. As if they were not human beings like yourself."

At this, the Duke apologized profusely and executed a series of elaborate bows. Content with this apology, Lizzy continued with her 'sad history'. "During the raid of a merchant ship, I met the King of Singapore. We married the following evening, after I promised never to pillage or plunder from his ships again."

"The king of Singapore! Fancy that! What a match for my poor, abandoned sister."

Lizzy inclined her head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. "Thus, I lived the prosperous life of a Singaporean queen…chopping off heads, imprisoning sheep, and making the occasional visit to the murky prisons of my palace. Of course, I kept in touch with my pirate comrades."

The Duke could, at this point, sustain no more conversation. The lure of his club and an enormous decanter of brandy had, by this point, convinced him that further acquaintance with his interesting new relation was out of the question. Valiantly had he attempted to endure separation from his beloved drink, but he could not longer stand it.

"It was very nice meeting another family member," the Duke said, struggling for an excuse, "and I am terribly sorry that my parents abandoned you. A cheap trick to play upon you! I daresay it is all very underhanded business. But you may come up and see me whenever you like; I'll surely be glad." He bowed gallantly at the end of these closing remarks and appeared quite ready to leave.

Lizzy dismissed him with yet another vehement snap of her fan.

"That was dangerously close to being treason," came the warning voice of her stomach. It was quickly whacked with Lizzy's fan-her choice of weapon that evening.

"If anything is treasonous," she informed it, with a great deal of acidity, "it is that old badger, for being as dull as a post and drunker besides!" She sniffed loudly. "That's the English monarchy for you!"

Her stomach was appropriately silenced.

Again, she attempted her trip to the punch bowl. Again, however, her attempt was thwarted, this time by the perennially incompetent Reginald Fitzhugh.

"I say!" came the familiar tone of a brightly-dressed dandy, "very nice dress! Quite the colour." He approached the mysterious personage with a bright smile. "Daresay it's quite bad _ton_ to say that without an introduction, but I've been admiring your ensemble from over by the punch bowl and just could not resist telling you."

Lizzy turned and eyed the newcomer auspiciously, though something of a smile lurked about her eyes. "I could not countenance improper actions," she said, "but I am very glad that you like my dress. It is all the rage in France. I daresay Napoleon would have one, if he was brave enough to wear it. Nothing like men in dresses, I say."

Reggie quite agreed with her. He was about to inquire her opinion about bonnets, but she stopped him before he could continue.

The evening was about to take a _**very**_ curious turn, indeed.

"I have a gun concealed beneath my bodice!" hissed Lizzy, in a very threatening tone, whilst patting one of the pillows that made up her 'heaving bosom, 'and I have no qualms whatsoever in using it.'

Reggie very audibly gasped, his face drained of all color, and his be-decked legs began to tremble. "Gun?" he asked, stammering, "surely this is all a joke! A very good joke it is, too!" He laughed. His mysterious interlocutor did not. This made Reggie cower all the more.

"You must do all that I command!" exclaimed Lizzy, in a high voice that she pitched to include a certain note of terror.

"Of course!" he quavered, the poor fellow-first the wine glass and now this. Reginald Fitzhugh was obviously _**not**_ having a good evening.

"Stand on your head and gobble like a chicken," commanded Lady M. in a tone that was not to be reckoned with.

Reggie, although somewhat in doubt over his chicken-gobbling abilities, was very obliging. As he squawked and danced about, the attention of most of the room's occupants was gained. Elizabeth-and Darcy-fought to maintain their composure. It was very difficult, but they succeeded admirably.

"Now, if you would be so kind," Lizzy said, in a kinder tone, "run about the room singing Rule Britannia backwards…"

Reggie did not look as willing to comply with this request.

"…and if you even think about informing anyone of this arrangement," she continued, "I assure you that I am an excellent shot, even when across a room!" Lizzy was obviously a brilliant prevaricator. Reggie did not even have time for doubt. Without another word, he did as he was instructed-jogging about the grand Eckington ballroom singing at the top of his lungs-and quite admirably, as well, excepting the fact that he did not know his Rule Britannia lyrics very well. Either that or it was extremely difficult to sing the words backwards.

One thing was for certain, however, he had certainly captured the rapt attention of the entire room.

He returned to Lady M. submissively, obviously hoping that his social humiliation would soon come to an end. Her ladyship, however, had other ideas.

"Proclaim your allegiance to the dread pirate Blondebeard!" she commanded.

Reggie looked rather perplexed at this simple command. "Blondebeard?" he inquired.

Lizzy nodded vigorously.

Reggie gulped. He did not, however, shirk from such a task. After all, he had little choice in the matter. He was no match against a towering inferno with a gun. "I proclaim my allegiance to the dread pirate Blondebeard!" he cried, to the general astonishment of the room.

"Louder!" demanded his captor, with dancing eyes.

Reggie obliged; practically screaming his allegiance and eliciting a series of gasps and whisperings amongst the fellow party-goers.

Elizabeth looked supremely pleased with herself. Reggie, on the other hand, was dangerously near fainting. Poor fellow; he had endured a very taxing evening. It was the first time in years he had been concerned with something other than his wardrobe.

"May I please…" he inquired, as politely as ever.

"I am not finished with you yet!" Lady M. cried, addressing him from behind her fan so as not to appear conspicuous," for you have one, final task."

Reggie gulped and turned a visible shade of green. Although he adored being the center of attention, he was not exactly happy about the sudden interest of the room. "W-w-what?" he stammered.

Lady M. smiled pleasantly. "Inform the room that you are madly in love with Lady Catherine de Bourg and passionately embrace her."

"WHAT?!?!" sputtered Reginald Fitzhugh, so loudly that Lizzy gave a little start, teetering dangerously on her perch upon Darcy's shoulders.

"You heard me," she replied, after regaining her balance.

"You cannot be serious," Reggie gasped, "why…she will _**kill**_ me."

Lizzy shrugged nonchalantly. "It's either her or me." She patted the pillow again, as if in warning. It was enough of a threat to make Reggie steel his shoulders and stride across the room to the prime corner of the room where Lady Catherine was imperiously regarding him.

"Lady Catherine," he said, nodding curtly and sweeping a bow that lacked his usual gusto.

"Reginald," she replied icily, wishing him far away. She did not want to be addressed by such a fop who had so obviously gone insane. As far as she was concerned, he should be promptly escorted to Bedlam.

It was no wonder her brother-in-law had such strange relations…certainly _**her**_ side of the family was not so crazy.

Reggie glanced back over his shoulder to where Lizzy was standing, looking quite menacing. He returned his focus to Lady Catherine and took a deep breath. "Iammadlyinlovewithyou,yourladyship." He sucked in all the air he possibly could before grabbing Lady Catherine and kissing her. "Begging your pardon," he said afterwards.

The room had gone deadly quiet. No music played. No laughter rang out. No one spoke.

Lady Catherine was glowering.

_**Glowering**_.

There was no embarrassment or humiliation or any other such weakness written upon her face. She hardly even noticed the sheepish, half-sobbing Reginald before her. Indeed, she was gazing straight past him, into the eyes of an entirely different person.

A pair of dancing blueberry eyes met hers, and Lady Catherine audibly gasped. Regardless of the room, regardless of society, regardless of whatever might be said about her upon the morrow, Lady Catherine screamed, as loudly as she possibly could…

"ELIZABETH BENNET!" she heaved under the volume of her words, "THIS TIME YOU HAVE GONE _**TOO**_ FAR!"

* * *

Later that evening, long after Elizabeth and Darcy had fled to the safety of the Eckington nursery and Mr. Darcy had managed to calm Lady Catherine to the point that she was no longer threatening to murder Elizabeth Bennet, a curious object was seen flying over the grand Eckington mansion. It was not a flag or anything of that sort; indeed, in the darkness of the moonless evening, it was difficult to be distinguished. The innumerable lights from the house, however, soon illuminated it… 

As the guests alighted from the house and away from the unusual events that had unfolded at the ball, they looked up to see a very hideous, very ugly, very pink dress waving merrily atop the flag-pole on the roof, the slight evening breeze rustling it about as a pair of dancing blueberry eyes surveyed it from the nursery window.

* * *

**_Notes_**

If anyone is curious, Lizzy is perched upon Darcy's shoulders. The petticoat is supposed to obscure this…I know it's probably a tad confusing. I just didn't know how to explain it in the story.

For reference (and to better understand), the Duke of York was the King's brother. I believe it was mentioned, but I just wanted to make sure. 

Thanks for reading!


	22. The Sweet Escape

**A/N: Okay, I just couldn't resist posting again. This is the chapter leading up to the 'finale', if it may be called that, of Childhood Impressions. The next time you see Elizabeth and Darcy will hopefully be in my sequel, Mr. Bennet's Daughter, which will go into the works and be posted as soon as I finish CI. Then, Lizzy will be 15, Darcy 19, Jane 16, etc. etc. I am looking forward to it. As I told you, the children will grow up.**

**Anyway, reviews really spurred me to get typing! And I finished this chapter earlier and only just got done proofreading it. So, thanks everyone for your amazing comments. It really makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Even Napoleon couldn't have had such an amazing morale boost. I really have loved writing this story, and I'm kind of sad that it is nearing the end and Lizzy and Darcy will have to grow up…on the other hand, new adventures! I have already decided that Caroline and Amelia will play roles…as well as Lady Piedmont, who will be competing for the affections of Mr. Darcy…anyway, enough with my babble…here is Chapter 22! Claps for not procrastinating, please!**

* * *

Chapter 22 

_The Sweet Escape (Okay, couldn't resist the popular reference…: )_

The fallout from the Eckington ball was to be expected. Lady Catherine remained silent _**only**_ until she had crossed the threshold of the Darcy townhouse.

Then, the volcano erupted. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Even diplomatic Mr. Darcy (who secretly wanted to give Lizzy a hearty slap on the back for so living up to her potential) could not quell his sister-in-law's anger.

Lady Catherine ranted and raged at Lizzy for so long, called her such a variety of foul names, so insulted her family that any other girl would have dissolved into tears. But not Lizzy. She received the various insults with relative indifference, unflinchingly regarded her persecutor, and, after an hour of such treatment, mounted the staircase-concealing a smile-and escaped into her room.

Five minutes after she had shrugged into her favorite tattered, ink-splattered men's dressing coat (after putting her dress on display over the Eckington house, she had _borrowed_ a pair of breeches and a shirt from one of the Eckington boys), tasseled hat, and slippers, there was a knock at the door and Darcy entered.

"What?" Lizzy asked, as soon as the door had closed behind him, "surprised to see I'm not sobbing into my pillow?" She regarded him quizzically as he seated himself on the edge of her favorite nook-the window seat.

"You should be," Darcy replied, "after what _she_ said. Wickham, Bingley, and I thought it was beastly of her to so single you out. We were just as guilty."

Lizzy shrugged. "She is my nemesis, Darcy. Of course she would single me out. It's what nemesis _do_, after all."

"What are you going to do?" he asked her, already discerning that she had something in mind.

Lizzy sat down beside him. "Nothing _**you**_ need to concern yourself about."

Darcy looked rather hurt. "I thought we were sworn allies!"

"We are!" Lizzy informed him, "but that doesn't mean you have to be involved in all of my exploits."

"But I want to be!" cried Darcy, taking her hand.

Lizzy did not release it; she gazed silently at him for a moment-his face, genuine and loyal betrayed not the slightest hint of anything other than her best friend and most dedicated comrade. But something in his eyes made her fidget uncomfortably. "I am going to run away, Darcy," she said simply, after a few moments.

"Run away?"

Lizzy nodded. "I finally have an excuse to do so, you see. No one will think it strange or out of place if I run away after what Lady Catherine said to me. Not that it particularly bothered me or anything…but I was itching for an opportunity."

"Run away?" Darcy repeated, aghast, "but you _**can't**_!"

"I can do anything I please," Lizzy remarked airily, "I am the dreaded pirate Blondebeard, after all, and Lady Catherine would never dare cross swords with _**me**_."

"That doesn't signify, Lizzy. What about my father?"

"I _**have**_ thought about your father," Lizzy informed him earnestly, "and I shall write him a note, inviting him to follow. It will be a very nice, grateful note. I promise. No itching powder in the folds. No frogs. Nothing out of order. Just a nice, grateful note."

"Lizzy, don't be rash…"

Elizabeth contemplated the window for a moment, gazing outside into the darkness of the street below. "This is my chance, Darcy," she said, after awhile. Her voice was very serious for that of Elizabeth Bennet; Darcy could detect no underlying sarcasm or suppressed merriment. "This is my chance," she repeated, "to go away and experience the world. I've always wanted to, you know…besides, I'll come back…eventually."

"And where are you going to go?" he inquired, with one eyebrow raised skeptically.

"To the sea, of course," Lizzy informed him matter-of-factly, "to commandeer a vessel. I shall set sail from Southampton and plunder and pillage whenever I choose. I hope to become infamous within a fortnight."

"You must be joking…"

"I've never been more serious in my life."

Darcy could see by Elizabeth's expression that this was true. She was one of the most stubborn individuals he knew, and once she had made her mind up, there was no persuading her otherwise. "Alright then," he replied, "then I am running away too."

"No you are not!" Lizzy declared, "this is _**my**_ scheme-I shall go about it by myself, thank you very much."

"Don't be hen-witted, Lizzy. An eight-year old cannot commandeer a vessel. A twelve-year old can."

Lizzy angrily stomped on his foot. "You forget!" she said, over his short cry of pain, "I am the dreaded pirate Blondebeard. It does not matter how old I am…"

"No one will take you seriously," Darcy said.

"They will once I have run off with their ship!" Lizzy snapped back. "I _**am**_ running away…"

"Not without me," he declared stoutly.

"No!" she answered equally firm, although she was beginning to realize that taking him along was inevitable if he was so bound and determined to go.

"Come on, Lizzy," he asked, suddenly polite, "take me along. I promise I will be more a help than a hindrance."

Elizabeth pretended to consider. In reality, her mind was already made up. "Alight," she said, after what she deemed a proper period of consideration, "you may come along. But do not breathe a word of our departure to anyone…_**including**_ Wickham and Bingley."

Darcy promised.

"We leave at four o'clock in the morning!"

* * *

_**Dear Uncle Willy-Ben,**_

_**Well, Darcy and I are running away. Please tell my mother that I am going to America to live with the savages. It will make her insanely angry. Please tell my father that I am going to join the Navy. He will think it very funny. You may tell Jane that I am eloping. She will think it very romantic…blah. **_

_**Only you may know the truth. I am going to the coast to commandeer a pirate vessel and sail the open seas as the dreaded pirate Blondebeard. I must say, it really was inevitable. The plan has been in my mind for quite some time. I will not tell you where exactly we shall set sail from, for then you would come after us and spoil it all…not on purpose, of course, it would just be your duty as my guardian and Darcy's father. Anyway, you needn't worry. I am quite capable of taking care of myself…and Darcy, too. I promise to be a very nice pirate, too, so you needn't be ashamed of me. In fact, my ship is always open to your company. **_

_**Please look after Maid Marion for me. I snuck her into the townhouse, you know. Letty won't dare touch her, so I doubt she would feed her, either. I was going to take her along, but she just wouldn't fit in my bag. And if you have a chance, please publish my manuscripts-they're in the topmost drawer of my desk. I think they are very good. I shall write some more once I have captured my pirate ship. **_

_**I will write to you in a secret code of all of my exploits, so that if the Navy intercepts any of my letters they will not make even the slightest sense…only to you, of course. Tell Lady Catherine, "Good riddance!" for me. I put some itching powder in her dressing gown. Oh…and I poured honey into that bottle of perfumed French lotion she always uses. Please don't tell her, though. You can just blame it on me. I only wish I could see her! **_

_**Well, I shall come back eventually to see everyone. And please do not forget to come and visit me. I shall have a hat with a long plume and two pistols…Darcy said that I should have a parrot, but I think that is far to clichéd. I would like one, however, if you ever had the mind to send me a present. I am going to teach it all of the curse words I have written in my book. Only, please do not go and look for it. And please do not burn it. I have only written them down for reference. After all, all good pirates must have an extensive vocabulary.**_

_**Do not be angry with us, Uncle Willy-Ben. I doubt you will be, though. If you must inform Lady Catherine, tell her that we are going to kidnap the Crown Jewels. Oh…and if she feels faint, do not give her the smelling salts. I put vinegar and onions in them...**_

_**Good-bye for now, Uncle Willy-Ben. I shall try in earnest to be best of pirates. Darcy says farewell too. He was too afraid to write to you, though. So I am doing it for the both of us. **_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**The Dreaded Pirate Blondebeard**_

The first instinct Mr. Darcy felt upon the receipt of Elizabeth's letter (some time during his breakfast, when the butler brought his mail into him) was to laugh. He did laugh and so loudly that poor Jameson, the stern butler, was rather frightened. Then, reality dawned upon him, and he went flying up the stairs to Lizzy's room.

She was not there. He checked Darcy's room, only to find his son missing as well. After scouring the house two times over, checking all of Lizzy and Darcy's favorite haunts, Mr. Darcy had to resign himself to the fact that they were, indeed, gone.

There was little to be done but reread the letter, attempt to be calm, and call for his last resort, Lady Catherine.

Lady Catherine was not in the least surprised. It was something she would have expected from, "that _**Bennet**_ girl."

"Frankly, I could care less," she stiffly informed her brother-in-law, "she has ruined my reputation…my position in society is at stake because of her. Therefore, she may do exactly as she pleases."

Thus were her sentiments; hardly the help that he so desperately needed. He was left with only one alternative…to go after them.

The letter had certainly not explicitly stated a destination, and further search of both Lizzy and Darcy's rooms yielded nothing. Interrogations with both Wickham and Bingley proved fruitless; they knew as little as Mr. Darcy and were just as surprised to hear of the sudden disappearance of their friends. Wickham considered it a 'jolly trick', while Bingley fretted over the safety of his friends and a certain Miss. Jane Bennet's reaction to the entire affair. Mr. Darcy hardly cared about their separate reactions, however, for he was too busy making preparations.

He had not the slightest idea where his charges had run off to, although he did hazard a guess that they would head somewhere near Southampton. It was one of the largest ports in England, after all, and Lizzy had mentioned something about wanting to explore the place earlier in the year. The letter did say that they would attempt to '_commandeer a vessel_' and that was, naturally, only possible somewhere on the coast.

After consulting with the servants and Jameson, Mr. Darcy gleaned the information that a hired hack had been seen skirting quickly away from the Darcy townhouse at a _**very**_ early time that morning. _**That**_ particularly story had been reported by one of the footman; although it had not been a very reliable narrative-considering that said footman was drunk at the time it occurred.

Left to puzzle out what little information he could, Mr. Darcy finally decided that Southampton appeared to be his best route of direction. He made haste to begin his journey, because _**wherever**_ Elizabeth Bennet was, he was sure she was up to no good

Thus, a quick note dispatched to Mr. Bennet, an assortment of necessities packed away, and Elizabeth's note in hand, Mr. Darcy set off for Southampton, hoping that he would soon be hot on the heels of Darcy and Elizabeth.


	23. A Pirate's Life

**_Okay...this is the second to last chapter. Seriously. No joke. Childhood Impressions is actually almost over. The next time Lizzy and Darcy are together...they will be young adults. Sorry, I have emotional attachments as an author. : ) _**

**_I just want to thank you all for the amazing reviews. I mean, they really make my day. I don't know how to express my thanks. I guess I could just hurry on up and post the last chapter, right? But, really, your support has been terrific. And I think that it is time for me to stop my sappy 'Oscar'-worthy speech and let you continue on to chapter 23. _**

**_I really love this chapter, and I hope that you do to._**

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**_A Pirate's Life_**

Portsmouth spread before them; a large, bustling city, set against the gleaming, seemingly endless sea.

Lizzy smiled, tugging Darcy along. The farther away from the traveling coach the better. She was _**tired**_ of traveling. After all, the journey to the bustling port-city had been an exhausting trip of eighty-four miles. To make matters worse, they had not been attacked by highway robbers, which irritated Lizzy to no end.

"What a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings! I daresay they need to liven up their business," Lizzy informed Darcy stiffly, the second day of their journey, "letting prime candidates get away so easily. Bah! What good are such highwaymen?" Had she met up with any, she would have severely taken them to task on their absolute incompetence.

Hardships other than highwaymen, however, had plagued their journey.

The trip had not been necessarily easy. Elizabeth had had to employ a great deal of cunning just to hire a coach to carry them away from the front door of the Darcy townhouse. At four-o'clock in the morning, chasing down a hack had not been an easy task. Fortunately, she and Darcy both were excellent runners.

When they had finally hailed a hack, however, the driver had presented a problem. It had not been an easy job to convince him to carry two unchaperoned children into the English countryside, and he had he been particularly enthusiastic about being paid in plum tarts (Elizabeth's only means of sustenance). Even Elizabeth's horribly good story that they were escaping from a fearsome monster that lived upstairs in the garret (although, she mused, this was partly true, as Lady Catherine could certainly be classified as such) did not sway him.

She had to resort to informing him that she and Darcy were eloping, but he had believed _that_ story even less.

"You are no more 'n a nursery-lass," he had informed Lizzy, much to her chagrin. She _**hated**_ being mistaken for a child. "You would never get past the parson."

A few, timely comments about being the king's long-lost sister, however, soon turned the tide in their favor. After learning that she was related to the king, and, indeed, friends with the Duke of York, the driver had leaped down from his seat, doffed his hat, executed a surprisingly courtly bow, handed her into the carriage (Darcy was left to fend for himself), and would not even _consider_ taking money from her.

This solved the problem of the _**traveling**_ coach as well. The hack driver took them as far as Oxford, where they were to meet with the hired carriage. _**Her**_ driver exchanged words with the traveling coach driver, and the matter was settled between them that Lady Marguerite Henrietta Marmaduke Amelia Hightower Fluorination-Florentine,

the king's long-lost sister, should suffer no qualms or monetary woes while in his care. Said driver was also advised to be cautious with such precious cargo, as the 'future of glorious England' resided within his care.

Indeed, both were so caught up in the general idea of conveying the king's sister about England, they did not question the likelihood of her traveling by post or even of her dubious destination of Portsmouth-a city hardly fit for such a grand and noble lady. Lizzy played the part to a tee; she assumed her best Amelia-tone, lifted her nose high into the air, and pretended to be royalty. It was a very good charade, and she had every other passenger in the hired carriage convinced.

The two drivers were appropriately awed.

Thus, Lizzy and Darcy set off on their trek-an arduous journey of such length that both were quite exhausted by its end. The road had been so rough that Lizzy had been unable to read the book of philosophy she had stolen from the library, the other passengers so dull that they had no conversation, and Darcy so unnaturally quiet that she was forced to stare out the window and count rain drops (it rained most of their journey, considerably slowing them down) in order to amuse herself.

When they finally arrived in Portsmouth, Lizzy was the first passenger down, the first to collect what little baggage she had brought with her, and the first to breathe in the invigorating salt air of the Atlantic. She forced Darcy to breathe it in as well.

"I do not understand why you are so gloomy," she said to him, taking him by the arm.

Darcy shrugged. "Perhaps I regret what we have done."

"Serves you right for having a conscience," she scoffed, with a twinkle in her eye.

Portsmouth was quite large for a seaside city. People bustled everywhere-a conglomeration of grizzled old men in tattered costumes, sprightly young sailors, and a sprinkling of naval officers. Lizzy could not immediately detect any pirates, which rather sparked her anger, as she thought the arrival of the dreaded pirate Blondebeard merited some attention. After all, she was the future terror of the seas.

"Pirates these days…" she muttered under her breath, as she stood, taking in her surroundings.

The side-street they had been deposited on was narrow and dirty-in a part of town referred to as 'disreputable'-no doubt because of its abundance of taverns and bars. (Nothing to make a part of town disreputable like a tavern, at least according to respectable people.)

Darcy insisted upon walking before Lizzy, which irritated her to no end.

"You needn't be so protective!" she exclaimed, brushing past him, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Darcy rolled his eyes at this protest but did not argue. If there was one thing Elizabeth Bennet loved, it was her independence. And he was not about to interfere with _**that**_.

Nevertheless, he assumed a very protective stance and scowled fiercely at any wandering drunk who dared to laugh at the willful young lady determinedly making her way towards the docks.

After several minutes of aimless wandering, the dingy, dilapidated structures began to give way to cleaner, wider structures and the sea came into view. The dirty path gave way to neat cobblestone and the wide harbor could finally be distinguished. People swarmed everywhere-to such an extent that even height could not give Darcy or Lizzy an advantage. They were forced to join the surge of bodies bustling in every direction, right and left. Undaunted, slim Lizzy darted through the crowd, pulling a rather reluctant Darcy along behind her. He was considerably taller than she was and so had a more difficult time maneuvering through the throngs of Portsmouth natives. Nevertheless, they eventually emerged-unscathed-on a sturdy wooden harbor, considerably deserted. A medium-sized ship was anchored nearby-rather old and dirty, but apparently what Lizzy was looking for, as she gave a shout of admiration, motioned Darcy to do the same, and set about to inspecting the area.

"_**That**_ is the ship you want to commandeer?" Darcy asked incredulously.

"Well, what had you in mind?" Lizzy inquired, exasperated. She cocked her head to one side, observing the various amenities the ship offered.

Darcy laughed. "Perhaps something sturdier and a bit more comely. This piece of wreckage looks like it would sink before it made it out of the harbor."

"Looks can be deceiving," Lizzy snapped prosaically, "besides, it is just the right size. We certainly couldn't handle anything bigger. And, after all, it is good enough for our _**first**_ ambush. We can be more ambitious the second time."

"Second time?" Darcy inquired, with a raised eyebrow. He had no time for other argument, however, as Lizzy had already whisked him off towards the plank leading from the dock to the ship.

* * *

Captain Barnabus Smudge surveyed the open expanse of water that stretched before him and sighed. Portsmouth had been a glaring mistake-he had barely retrieved the cargo before the Navy got wind of his plans. Now, with the last traces of good, solid earth visible in the distance, he felt immensely relieved to have made so narrow an escape. It had been too close of a call, however. Next time, he and his crew would have to be more discreet. 

_What had ever possessed him to enter the pirating trade?_ Captain Smudge wondered absently. He would have been such an upstanding clergyman and made his mother so very proud. If not for that sycophant toady of a man called Mr. Collins, he should have had his parsonage at Hunsford and the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourg. Oh, but that insipid fool had kissed her boots, and Lady Catherine-in all her grandeur made _**him**_ parson when _**he**_-Barnabus Smudge-was so evidently the superior candidate. Now, for all he knew, Collins lived a comfortable, criminal-free lifestyle-he was married to a stout, pleasant woman-the former Miss. Meed-and had a parcel of boot-kissing children.

And Barnabus?

He was a no-good, salt-and-sea pirate; a slave to the bottle and to the sea. The bright expanse of cerulean water that had once intoxicated his soul now drove him mad. There was nothing more he desired that the quiet solace of a country parsonage.

But Captain Smudge dismissed these thoughts quickly. He was a pirate-through-and-through-and pirates did not wish to be _parsons_. He was a member of the blood-thirsty brethren-the noblest position any man could desire. Such thoughts he entertained were treasonous.

"Shall we open the barrels now, Cap'n?" inquired a scruffy-looking sailor, practically rubbing his hands together. Their mission-while dangerous-had also promised a great deal of profit. They would not have risked their necks for anything less.

Smudge scratched his chin, surveyed the last chunk of land-which was hazy in the distance-and agreed.

Uttering a cry of excitement, the sailor dexterously ran to the barrels, prodded them with his toe, and-seeing that they were heavy-called his other pirate comrades to do likewise. A large group congregated in a semi-circle about the dirty sailor and the barrels, everyone eyeing them with a great deal of interest.

Only Smudge, however, was permitted the luxury of opening them for all to see.

With deliberation, he marched towards the first barrel, rapped it lightly, and, taking a proffered knife, split open the top. He made a motion to glance downwards, but was abruptly stopped by the emergence of a tousled brown head.

The pirates gave a shout of surprise, as they were greeted with the sight of-not the expected booty-but a pair of startling blueberry eyes in the merry, mischievous face of a _**girl**_.

"I am the dreaded pirate Blondebeard!" announced Lizzy cheerfully, springing out of her barrel, "and this is my first-mate… Darcy."

She motioned impatiently for Smudge to open the barrel next to hers. Without thinking, he did so. When Darcy popped from the barrels, however, he regained some of he senses.

Elizabeth starred defiantly at him, her light-blue eyes glowing indigo. Instinctively, Captain Smudge took a step backwards. "Are you the captain of this ship?" she demanded imperatively.

"Who wants to know?" he asked, leering.

"The dreaded pirate Blondebeard," returned Lizzy, undaunted, "and you would know that, had you been paying attention."

"Why should I pay attention to a scrawny, slip of a girl like you?" inquired the captain, a trifle taken aback.

"You shall not speak to the dreaded pirate Blondebeard in that manner!"

"I shall do as I please. It's my ship."

"It _**was**_ your ship," Lizzy corrected. "But not anymore." She began to pace the desk with an authoritative step. "I _originally_ came on board to join you as captain, but I can see now that you haven't the least grain of proper respect due that of a dreaded pirate. Furthermore, you have failed to be appropriately terrified me. Therefore, I strip you of your right as captain and demote you! Your new job will be to swab the decks."

Captain Smudge had an expression of pure astonishment upon his face. "You can't demote me to anything, missy!" he declared, after regaining his vocal abilities, "I'm the captain." He jabbed his thumb to his chest as if to emphasize this fact.

"Yes and a fine captain you have been!" scoffed Lizzy, glancing around the old ship, "I've never seen such a creaky vessel. You could have taken much better care of it."

"I'm a pirate…not a _maid_," retorted the Captain.

"Yes, but you could still have managed to find a good desk-swabber to tend to all of this dirt and grime," Lizzy informed him nonchalantly. "Not that I mind dirt and grime on the whole…it is just extremely annoying to attempt to carry off nefarious plots in a dirt-hovel. People are not frightened of creaky, dirty ships, you know."

"They are not frightened of little girls, either," said the Captain, feeling rather clever.

Lizzy looked around the ship, before returning her steady gaze upon the Captain. "Little girls? _**Where**_?"

He struggled for a retort, but she spared him the necessity of response. "I have very little time for idle chatter, sir." Glancing at the incredulous crew surrounding them, Lizzy gave a snort of irritation. "Well…come along, then. Someone fetch this man a mop and bucket."

Some of the crew members scrambled to obey her orders, but they were promptly stopped by Captain Smudge.

"You traitors!" he called, at the top of his lungs, "and _**you**_," he rounded on Lizzy, "little pest. I do not know how you climbed into those barrels or what possessed you to come aboard _**my**_ ship but…"

"Must I explain everything?" Lizzy asked, exasperated.

"I do not want explanations!" roared the Captain, "I want you off of my ship."

"Well, that's a pity, because I'm not going _**anywhere**_." Elizabeth crossed her arms defiantly.

"You're a _**woman**_," the Captain managed, unable to think of a more logical retort.

"So?"

"Women are unlucky on the sea…"

"Bah!" Lizzy cried, "that is mere superstition; a tale no doubt invented by men so they could escape from the opposite sex. Besides, it makes no sense whatsoever. Everyone knows that women are far superior to men in terms of intellect and reasoning. And intellect and reasoning are what run a ship!"

"You've no more right to be captain of this ship than I do!" the Captain exclaimed, realizing that he had lost the previous battle.

"At least I have hygienic qualities, a brain, and a sense of direction in _**my**_ favor," Lizzy returned. "I think that such qualities are recommendation enough and easily trump _**yours**_."

"I've had enough of this!" growled the Captain. He had lost the parsonage to Mr. Collins, but he was not about to lose his ship to some pert, opinioned nine-year old. So, he found himself forced to resort to the only alternative…_**violence**_. That being said, he grabbed Lizzy abruptly and held her high up in the air.

"You put her down!" cried Darcy, pulling at her legs. He received only stockings and boots for his efforts.

"Put me down this instant!" demanded Lizzy, struggling valiantly to free herself from his grasp.

Darcy had, by that time, attached himself to the Captain's feet.

Growing quite annoyed with his would-be assailants and his own crews' reluctance to become involved, the Captain, still maintaining a firm hold on Lizzy, withdrew a long-barreled dueling pistol and brandished it in the air.

The effect was immediate. Lizzy stopped flailing. Darcy released the Captain's legs. The crew snapped to attention.

Captain Smudge smiled. "That's better," he said slowly, drawing the gun downwards until it was positioned against Lizzy's tangled curls.

"Let her alone!" cried Darcy vehemently, "it's me you want."

"Of for goodness sake, don't be so melodramatic, Darcy!" cried Lizzy, rather unphased for someone being held at gunpoint. "I am _**quite**_ capable of taking care of myself."

Despite the dangerous situation, Darcy could not suppress a grin. However, he persisted in playing out the part of the hero.

Captain Smudge-for his part-annoyed with his crew, Elizabeth, and Darcy, and thankful that he had never had children of his own, paused, unsure of which one to target. Hesitantly, he began to move his pistol in the general direction of Darcy….

when Elizabeth bit his hand. Howling in pain, he dropped both Lizzy and the gun. They clattered to the ground, the gun skidding only inches away. Nimbly, Lizzy retrieved it. In seconds, she had aimed it at the Captain and his crew.

…and that was exactly how Admiral Cardross of the Royal Navy found them an hour later-Elizabeth, a large, dilapidated hat upon her head and an unlit cigar upon her lip (that was for effect) brandishing an antique dueling pistol in the general direction of a large group of burly men, tied expertly to the mast.

The dueling pistol in her hand was unloaded.

Admiral Cardross had never seen anything like it in his twenty-odd years of service.

"Do you realize that you both are English heroes?" Cardross inquired of both Darcy and Lizzy as they made their way towards land. The Naval ship they traveled back upon was much sleeker than Elizabeth's conquest. She admired it very much but had already decided her chances of commandeering it were slim. There really was only time to take-over one ship a day, after all. "You have captured the most notorious smugglers in Portsmouth-nay, England! Not only has Captain Barnabus Smudge eluded capture these ten-years past, he has smuggled innumerable sums of money and contraband goods out of England."

"All in a day's work," Lizzy remarked airily. She was still rather upset that Admiral Cardross had forced her to reveal her running-away plot. The worst part of the matter was that he knew Mr. Darcy personally. That meant that they soon would be deposited in London. All thoughts of sailing the open seas had vanished. The Navy would not even allow them to keep the ship they had rightfully commandeered. It was all very vexing.

"Is there anything…_**anything**_ that we can do to prove our appreciation?" Admiral Cardross was asking her.

"Shall we truly be honorary members of the Navy?" inquired Darcy, who had been admiring the Admiral's gleaming medals.

"Yes, of course." Admiral Cardross smiled at his excitement. "And you, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I should very much like my own ship."

"Really?" inquired the Admiral, stroking his chin, "I shall see what I can do about it."

Three months later, a handsome sailboat was delivered to Longborne with Admiral Cardross's compliments and an invitation for Miss. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to join the Royal Navy.

Needless to say, they were both delighted.

_**Last chapter will take place at Longborne! **_


	24. All's Well that Ends Well

**The final chapter! Can you believe it? I certainly cannot...wow. I'm still reeling from the shock of actually finishing this. The amazing comments, etc. have been so encouraging. Hangnhu...I am very sorry I did not resolve the book as you wished. I do, however, have plans in store for Darcy and Lizzy that will majory deviate from defined social convention! I hope that helps. Anyway, everyone has been amazing and encouraging, etc., and I am just so grateful. Sorry that the update took so long in coming; I spent most of my time reading the seventh Harry Potter...which I thought resolved itself happily. I do hope that _this_ resolves itself happily. It is so cool to be able to mark _completed_! As for the sequel...I am working on it. Anyway, thanks again, and I really hope that you enjoy...the _final_ chapter of Childhood Impressions!**

Chapter 24

All's Well that Ends Well

On a rather warm day in mid-April, a few months after the adventure in Portsmouth, Darcy and Elizabeth sat on the old wicker fence surrounding Farmer Gregory's fields. The Darcys' had just returned from London to deposit Lizzy at Longborne; prior plans and Pemberley business would soon carry them into Derbyshire. A summer visit was out of the question that year. Both Lizzy and Darcy felt the oncoming separation acutely, but neither would discuss it. They sat in silence, willing themselves to concentrate on happier things, like Mr. Bennet's elation at seeing his daughter…and the state of Longborne.

To say Mr. Bennet was happy to see his daughter would not have done the gentleman justice. The long letters she had written him from London only _**just**_ helped him limp through a long winter without her. So long had he endured the inane conversation of his wife and daughters…so long had he labored under a life deprived of any variance or amusement…so long had he been forced to seek sanctuary in his library that, at the first sound of wheels upon gravel, he had flung himself from his favorite easy-chair and bowled out of the front doors to welcome his daughter home with open arms.

"You shall never leave me again, Elizabeth Bennet!" he cried, upon greeting her. Lizzy could not, of course, agree to this command, but she was very happy to see her father and told him so.

Mrs. Bennet was scarcely as enthusiastic. She _**had**_, of course, missed Elizabeth… in her own way, but Amelia had easily compensated for companionship, and Mrs. Bennet had, in all honesty, been rather glad of the lull in excitement. Not that she did not put on a very happy face, however, upon Elizabeth's arrival and cluck over her various things and embrace her warmly. However silly or stupid Mrs. Bennet was, she was not devoid of a heart. If her motherly instincts towards Elizabeth were a tad limited, she _**did**_ care for the girl. And Lizzy was happy enough to see her.

Jane had only grown in beauty. In only a few short months, she had grown quite tall. Her hair was a brighter shade of gold and she had grown out of the freckles that had plagued her earlier in the year. Out of all her sisters, Lizzy was happiest to see her. Jane, in fact, was very glad to see Lizzy as well. Amelia had dealt her a very trying winter, and she had been so busy in attempting to placate and please her cousin that she had scarcely had any time to devote to herself. She had also taken the education of Lizzy's charges-Sophie, Julia, Robin, and Geri to heart. Kind-natured as she was, she provided an ample replacement in her sister's absence. Granted, her lessons were not nearly as interesting nor her vocabulary as large as Elizabeth's, but she had a great deal more patience than her sister and was both encouraging and firm in her lessons. Thus, Lizzy was delighted to find that her 'pupils' were quite 'up to snuff' in their educations and had not suffered in her absence. For this, she was quite grateful to Jane.

As for Lizzy's other sisters, they were much too young to have truly missed her. Lydia and Kitty, apparently, had become devoted to Amelia, while Mary had become devoted to the family's dusty, old piano-forte, so they had scarcely any time to even consider missing the second-eldest Bennet girl.

Betsey and Rose, too, had been extremely anxious about the welfare of their favorite charge. Indeed, Betsey had been so upset over the loss of _**her**_ Lizzy that the Bennet family had been deprived of blueberry bread all winter; she declared she could not cook it without Lizzy. Rose, meanwhile, had wept so much the first week of Elizabeth's absence that she had spoilt most of the laundry and been dealt a very stinging lecture by Mrs. Bennet. When Elizabeth arrived, they were both quite overcome…so full of happiness that Lizzy was quite taken aback.

Thankfully, Amelia Lawrence had been carried off by her n'er-do-well father to return to her quiet life in Sussex, far, _far_ away from Lizzy and Longborne. This was-Elizabeth had thoughtfully mused upon arriving to find she could relocate from the garret-a bittersweet departure. Despite the fact that she detested Amelia Lawrence with almost every fiber of her being, she could not help but feel slightly saddened that she would not be able to pull off any of the monstrously wonderful pranks she had been plotting against her. That being said, she was very happy that the infamous Lawrence girl had departed. Amelia, however, would be no doubt be back; Mrs. Bennet had ostensibly invited her to spend the summer at Longborne when_ever_ she chose.

Such events and information constituted Lizzy's return to Longborne. Nothing of very great importance had really happened in Hertfordshire. It had just been much quieter and dull since Lizzy's departure; no pranks, no wit, and no mischief had plagued anyone in the near vicinity. No fellow mischief makers had dared take root in her absence; the pursuit was solely hers. Elton, John, Clara, and Charlotte had not dared to even consider taking her place.

As she sat upon the wicker fence, Lizzy wondered why she could not accompany the Darcys'. As much as she loved her home, she found it rather tedious without the Netherfield party. So close and comfortable had she grown to Darcy, she did not feel that Elton, John, Charlotte, and Clara would _**do**_ as companions. She dismissed this treasonous thought as nonsense later, however; she was sure that her attachment to Darcy would soon be forgotten…or _**would**_ it?

"I shall go away, you know…" Darcy mused, breaking their silence.

"Go away?" inquired Lizzy, "why ever do you need to do _**that**_?"

"We cannot stay at Longborne forever, Lizzy," he replied, "Father must return to Pemberley. Or well shall go stay in London. I shan't be able to return until summer. Besides, I shall have to go to University soon enough."

"Oh, Darcy, must you be so gloomy and dull?" cried Lizzy. "Of course you must do all of those things…but I shall do them with you!"

Darcy looked down as his shoes, unable to return Elizabeth's steady gaze. He did not want to destroy all of her hopes…of their carefully thought out plans…but the truth must be broken to her. "Lizzy, you just _**can't**_," he said, finally steeling himself to deliver the truth.

She did not storm or rant or rave as any other girl would have done. Instead, she surveyed him through those unnerving electric blue eyes, unwavering and thoughtful in their intensity. "I know," she replied, after a long period of silence, "I am not a simpleton, you know."

"But nothing can keep us apart, Lizzy!" he declared stoutly, "surely you must know that. We are bound to the pirate order, after all. And that is none to easy to break."

Lizzy smiled at him. She had grown in maturity during the past few months, and her new command and patient air betrayed it. Granted, she would never lose her mischievous streak but that did not necessarily bar her from sense. "Of course not," she remarked, attempting to keep her voice matter-of-fact, "and I defy anyone to challenge it!"

"At least we have this summer left us…and all of the summers that follow. I highly doubt that Father will ever let us miss a summer excursion to Netherfield." Darcy gazed off into the distant fields, watching as the sun dipped below the emerald hills. "The summer will always be ours."

Lizzy smiled. "I will hatch the most wonderful plans while you are away at school."

"How can you under the command of that new governess Father is forcing upon you?"

"Do you believe a simple governess can stop me?" she questioned, an eyebrow raised.

Darcy laughed. "Good point."

"Besides, I shall be the one giving instructions. The dreaded pirate Blondebeard takes orders from no one, after all."

"Nevertheless," Darcy replied, in a slightly cautionary tone, "Henrietta Marshington is quite set in her ways." He was referring to the young lady that Mr. Darcy had deemed intelligent-and firm-enough to both teach and manage Lizzy.

"As am I in mine."

He grinned. "I only wish I were here when you meet her."

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "I suppose it shall be something of a battle of wills."

"To say the least."

Silence reigned between them again but not of an uncomfortable nature. They both starred off into the sinking sun, unwilling to sully the perfect serenity of the day's end with words. Each, however, was lost in their own thoughts; Darcy was pondering a life void of Lizzy's company, and Lizzy was thinking the same.

The sun was almost lost to the horizon when Darcy did something _**very**_ unexpected. Before Lizzy could protest or argue or even manage a well-timed punch to the head, he had leaned over and kissed her. Kissed her…and properly on the lips. It was a kiss in such a manner as she had Jane had once discussed on the dusty road to Meryton one distant afternoon.

"Don't be angry, Lizzy," he instructed her, finally settling back to his position "we are friends, after all."

Elizabeth did not look angry or even very surprised. "I suppose we are," she answered, her voice distant.

"I shall come back every summer," he promised.

"So you shall," she muttered, the world finally beginning to settle into order again.

"And we shall keep this between ourselves?"

A customary Lizzy-look resulted. "As if you should be ashamed of kissing the dreaded pirate Blondebeard?" she inquired saucily.

"Of course not," he compensated awkwardly. "But we shall always be friends…right, Lizzy?"

The look she returned him was serious, yet tinged with her customary sarcasm. "Of course."

And, together, they retreated from the perch on the wicker fence and wandered homeward, arms linked.

**_Finis_**


End file.
